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NAPOLEON. 


L 


FAMOUS 


LEADERS  AMONG  MEN 


SARAH    KNOWLES   BOLTON 

AUTHOR    OF        r(K1R    BOYS   WHO    BECAME    FAMOUS,  GIRLS   WHO    BECAME    FAMOUS 

"  FAMOUS      AMERICAN      AUTHORS,"      "  FAMOUS      AMERICAN      STATESMEN," 
"  FAMOUS      MEN     OF     SCIENCE,"      "  FAMOUS     EUROPEAN      ARTISTS," 
"famous    TYPES    OF    WOMANHOOD,"      "  STORIES     FROM     LIFE," 

"from  heart  and  nature"  (poems),  "famous 

ENGLISH     authors,"     "  FAMOUS     ENGLISH 
STATESMEN,"      ETC.,      ETC. 


The  lonRer  I  live,  the  more  certain  I  am  that  the  great  difference  between  men, 
the  feeble  and  the  powerful,  tlie  greai  and  the  insignificant,  is  energy  and  invincible 
determituition. —  Sir  Thomas  Fowell  Buxton. 


NEW  YORK:  46  East   mth  Street 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO. 

BOSTON:  100  Purchase  Street 


^^ 


CorYltlGHT,   I6i4, 
BY 

Thomas  Y.  Ckowkll  &  Co. 


C.  J.  I'ETEKS  &  Son, 

TYrE-SETTER8  ANI>  El.KCrROTyPERS, 
145  IlKJIl  Stbeet,  Bobton. 


TO  MY  SON 

Cjiarles  Itnobiles  Bolton* 


PREFACE. 


Napoleon  said,  "  My  maxim  has  always  been,  a  career 
open  to  talent  without  distinction  of  hirth.'"  It  will  be 
seen  in  these  pages  that  most  of  these  men  rose  to  leader- 
ship by  their  own  efforts.  Napoleon  was  poor,  and  often 
without  employment  in  early  life,  but  his  industry,  good 
judgment,  will,  and  ambition  carried  him  to  the  heights 
of  power. 

Nelson  was  the  son  of  a  minister,  whose  salary  did  not 
support  his  numerous  family,  but  his  boy  had  the  energy 
and  force  that  won  success. 

Bunyan,  a  travelling  tinker,  twelve  years  a  prisoner  in 
Bedford  jail,  could,  while  poor  and  in  prison,  write  a 
book  that  is  read  more  than  any  other  in  the  world,  save 
the  lUble. 

Arnold,  through  love  for  his  work,  and  his  untiring 
energy  and  good  sense,  became  the.  ideal  teacher. 

Phillips  and  Bcecher,  both  elocpient,  the  latter  begin- 
ning his  labors  on  a  salary  of  $>200  a  year,  were  led 
into  their  great  careers  through  a  gi-eat  motive,  —  their 
hatred  of  slavery. 

Kingsley,  the  Christian  socialist,  knowing  that  the 
pulpit  must  help  in  the  solution  of  the  labor  problem, 
lived  and  preached  the  brotherhood  of  man. 

Sherman,  the  son  of  a  widow,  adopted  by  his  father's 


vi  PREFACE. 

friend,  had  early  failures,  and  won  his  place  of  distinc- 
tion with  Grant  and  Sheridan  by  his  own  ability. 

Spurgeon,  whose  work  was  marvellous,  was  poor,  and 
without  a  college  education. 

Phillips  Brooks,  whose  deatli  was  an  irreparable  loss, 
made  his  way  even  more  by  his  sincerity  and  unselfish- 
ness than  by  his  eloquence. 

Napoleon,  whf)  was  esi)ecially  fond  of  biography  and 
history,  was  always  eager  to  learn  what  qualities  pro- 
duced greatness  or  success.  Perhaps  some  will  find  it 
interesting  to  trace  in  these  pages  what  enabled  these 
men  to  be  leaders  in  various  fields. 

S.  K.  B. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Napoleon  Bonapaute      .   ' 1 

HoKATio  Nelson 87 

John  Bunyan 123 

Thomas  Arnold 140 

Wendell  Phillips 175 

Henry  Ward  Beecheu 217 

ClIAKLES    KiNGSLEY 201 

General  William  Tecumseh  Sherman 288 

Charles  II addon  Spuroeon 333 

Phillips  Brooks 3(58 

vii 


NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 


"  The  series  of  Napoleon's  successes  is  absolutely  the 
most  marvelloiTS  in  history.  No  one  can  question  that 
he  leaves  far  behind  the  Turennes,  Marlborouglis,  and 
Fredericks ;  but  when  we  bring  him  up  for  comparison 
an  Alexander,  a  Hannibal,  a  Caesar,  a  Charles,  we  find  in 
the  single  point  of  niarvellousness  Napoleon  surpassing 
them  all.  .  .  . 

"  Every  one  of  those  heroes  was  born  to  a  position 
of  exceptional  advantage.  Two  of  them  inherited 
thrones;  Hannibal  inherited  a  position  royal  in  all  but 
the  name ;  CcEsar  inherited  an  eminent  position  in  a  great 
empire.  But  Napoleon,  who  rose  as  high  as  any  of 
them,  began  life  as  an  obscure  provincial,  almost  as  a 
man  without  a  country.  It  is  this  niarvellousness  which 
paralyzes  our  judgment.  We  seom  to  see  at  once  a 
genius  beyond  all  estimate,  a  unicjue  character,  -and  a 
fortune  utterly  unaccountable." 

Thus  wrote  John  liobert  Seeley,  Professor  «f  Modern 
History  in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  of  the  man 
whom  he  regarded  as  the  greatest  enemy  Englaiul  has 
ever  known. 

Napoleon  lias  been  more  praised  and  villified,  probably, 
than  any  man  in  history.  Lanfrey,  though  careful  as  to 
facts,  and  Taine,  are  bitter,  always  ready  to  impute  sin- 
ister motives.     John  S.  C.  Abbott  is  adulatory ;  Walter 

1 


2  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

Scott  cannot  be  impartial;  and  Bourrienne,  the  discarded 
private  secretary,  Madame  de  Remusat,  and  the  Duchess 
d'Abrantes,  must  be  read  with  allowance  for  prejudice. 
Tliiers,  in  his  twenty  volumes  on  "The  Consulate  and  tlie 
Empire,"  gives  a  most  valuable  picture  of  the  times, 
friendly  to  the  great  leader ;  John  Codman  Ropes's 
"  First  Napoleon  "  is  able ;  and  the  life  by  AVilliam 
O'Connor  Morris  of  Oxford  is  generally  fair  and  inter- 
esting. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  born  at  Ajaccio,  in  the  Island 
of  Corsica,  Aug.  15,  1769.  This  date  has  been  dis- 
puted by  some  authors,  who  claim  that  Napoleon  was 
born  Jan.  7,  1768.  Colonel  Jung,  in  "Bonaparte  et 
son  Temps,"  thinks  the  dates  of  birth  of  Napoleon 
and  his  brother  Joseph  were  exchanged  by  the  i)arents, 
who  wished,  in  1778,  to  send  Napoleon  to  a  military 
school  at  l^rienne  supported  by  the  State,  and  he  must 
needs  be  under  ten  years  of  age. 

As  Corsica  became  subject  to  France  in  June,  1769, 
some  persons  believe  that  Napoleon  himself  changed  the 
date  of  his  birth  from  1768  to  1769,  that  he  might  appear 
to  the  French  nation  as  a  French  subject ;  but  the  date, 
Aug.  15,  1769,  is  usually  accepted  as  correct. 

The  Bonaparte  family  were  originally  from  the  nobility 
of  Florence,  where  thoy  had  taken  a  somewhat  prominent 
part  in  politics  and  literature.  They  had  lost  their 
fortune ;  and  Charles  Bonaparte,  the  father  of  Napoleon, 
earned  his  living  by  the  law.  He  Avas  an  eloquent  man, 
and  an  adjutant  under  I'asquale  Paoli,  a  patriot  of  Cor- 
sica. This  island,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  was  under 
Genoa.  When  it  gained  its  independence  under  Paoli, 
such  rights  as  Genoa  still  possessed  she  sold  to  France. 
As  a  result,  in  1769  a  French  army  of  twenty -two  thou- 


NAPOLEON  BONAPAUTE.  % 

sand  subjugated  the  island,  and  Paoli  fled  to  England, 
where  he  lived  for  twenty  years. 

Charles  J^ona})arte,  at  eighteen,  married  a  girl  not  yet 
fifteen,  Letizia  Ramolini,  descended  from  a  noble  family 
of  Naples,  a  person  of  unusual  beauty  and  strength  of 
character.  Although  so  young,  she  entered  heai-tily  into 
the  warfare  for  Corsican  independence,  and  shared  the 
perils  of  her  husband  at  the  front. 

Napoleon  was  the  fourth  of  her  thirteen  children,  the 
eldest,  a  son,  and  the  second,  a  daughter,  both  dying 
young.  He  was  born  in  the  midst  of  war.  He  wrote 
Paoli,  in  1789,  when  he  was  twenty  years  old,  "  I  was 
born  when  my  country  was  sinking;  the  cries  of  the 
dying,  the  groans  of  the  oppressed,  and  the  tears  of 
despair  surrounded  my  cradle  from  my  birth." 

The  ])uchess  d'Abrantes  tells  this  story  of  Na])oleon's 
boyhood.  When  he  was  seven  years  old,  being  accused 
by  one  of  his  sisters  of  eating  a  basket  of  grapes  and 
figs,  although  he  denied  the  offence,  he  Avas  whipped 
and  kept  on  bread  and  cheese  for  three  days. 

On  the  fourth  day  a  lit'tle  friend  of  the  family  arrived 
at  the  home,  and  confessed  that  she  and  Napoleon's 
sister,  Marianna  (afterward  Elisa)  had  eaten  the  fruit. 
The  lad  was  asked  Avhy  he  had  not  accused  his  sister, 
and  replied  that  he  suspected  that  she  Avas  guilty,  but 
said  nothing  out  of  consideration  for  the  frieiul. 

After  the  submission  of  Corsica  to  France  in  1769, 
Count  Marbwuf  Avas  ajipointed  viceroy  of  the  island. 
He  became  a  friend  of  the  lionapartes ;  and  Charles,  the 
father,  Avas  made  king's  assessor  to  the  Jmlicial  Court  for 
Ajaccio.  Through  Marboeuf's  influence  three  of  the 
BonapartechildreuAvere  placed  in  fine  schools, — Josei)h, 
Marianna,  and  Napoleon,  the  last  at  the  military  school 


4  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

of  Brienne,  near  Paris.  Here  he  remained  for  five  years. 
•He  was  a  quiet,  studious  lad,  devoted  to  Plutarch's 
Lives  and  Ciesar's  Commentaries.  He  was  always 
trying  to  find  out  wliat  made  certain  men  great.  He 
was  easily  at  the  head  of  his  class  in  mathematics.  His 
industry  and  perseverance  were  astonishing. 

"  During  play-hours,"  says  Bourrienne,  "  he  used  to 
withdraw  to  the  library,  where  he  read  works  of  history, 
particularly  PolyV)ius  and  Plutarch.  I  often  went  off  to 
play  with  ray  comrades,  and  left  him  by  himself  in  the 
library." 

He  was  cold  in  manner,  talked  very  little  with  his 
classmates,  and  felt  keenly  his  poverty  and  the  submis- 
sion of  his  country  to  France. 

Most  of  the  boys  at  the  school  were  rich,  and  they 
often  ridiculed  Napoleon  and  his  country.  And  yet  he 
bore  them  no  ill-will;  and,  says  Bourrienne,  "when  he 
had  the  supervision  of  any  duty  which  they  infringed, 
he  would  rather  go  to  prison  than  denounce  the  crim- 
inals." During  the  winter  of  1783-84,  when  the  fall 
of  snow  was  unusually  heavy.  Napoleon,  then  four- 
teen, suggested  to  his  mates  that  they  build  a  snow 
fort,  "  divide  ourselves  into  sections,  form  a  siege, 
and  I  will  undertake  to  direct  the  attacks."  This 
sham  war  was  carried  on  with  great  enthusiasm  for  a 
fortniglit. 

Three  of  the  best  scholars  were  sent  every  year  from 
each  of  the  twelve  provincial  military  schools  of  France 
to  the  Military  College  of  Paris.  Napoleon  was  one  of 
the  three  sent  from  Brienne. 

Here  the  young  men  lived  so  expensively  that  the 
youth  of  fifteen  wrote  a  letter  of  protest  to  the  Vice- 
Principal  Berton  of  l^rienne.     He  urged  that,  instead  of 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  5 

SO  many  attendants,  and  two-course  dinners,  they  should 
wait  upon  themselves,  clean  their  own  boots,  and  eat  the 
coarse  bread  made  for  soldiers.  Temperance  and  activity 
would  fit  them,  he  said,  for  the  hardships  of  war. 

Napoleon  won  the  admiration  of  his  teachers.  The 
professor  in  history,  M.  de  I'Eguille,  said  :  "A  Corsican 
by  birth  and  character,  he  will  do  something  great  if 
circumstances  favor  him." 

After  a  year  at  this  school,  he  was  made  second 
lieutenant  of  artillery  in  the  regiment  of  La  Fere,  in  1785. 
The  next  five  years  he  passed  at  different  military  sta- 
tions in  France.  He  was  always  studying.  He  pored 
over  maps  and  plans  of  fortresses.  He  read  with  avidity 
books  on  law,  philosophy,  theology,  political  economy, 
and  various  forms  of  government.  He  wrote  an  essay 
on  the  question,  "  What  are  the  institutions  most  likely 
to  contribute  to  human  happiness  ?  "  He  also  wrote  a 
history  of  Corsica  and  her  wrongs. 

Abbott  relates  that  on  a  day  of  public  festivity  at 
Marseilles,  Napoleon  was  criticised  because  he  did  not 
join  in  the  amusements.  He  replied,  "  It  is  not  by  play- 
ing and  dancing  that  a  man  is  to  be  formed." 

At  Auxonne,  Napoleon  and  some  other  officers  boarded 
with  a  plain  barber.  The  wife  of  the  barber  did  not  like 
the  taciturn  young  Napoleon,  who  stayed  in  his  room 
and  devoured  his  books,  while  the  other  officers  pleased 
her  from  their  social  ways,  and  enjoyment  of  the  gossip 
of  the  town. 

Years  after,  Napoleon,  who  had  won  several  victories, 
passed  that  way.  He  asked  the  barber's  wife  if  she 
remembered  an  offi.cer  by  the  name  of  Bonaparte  in  her 
home.  "  Indeed  I  do,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  a  very  dis- 
agreeable inmate  he  was.     He  was  always  either  shut 


6  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

up  in  his  room,  or,  if  he  walked  out,  he  never  conde- 
scended to  speak  to  any  one." 

"  Ah,  my  good  woman,"  said  Najwleon,  "  had  I  passed 
my  time  as  you  wished  to  have  me,  I  should  not  now 
have  been  in  command  of  the  army  of  Italy." 

Napoleon  was  at  this  time  very  slight  in  pliysique,  five 
feet  six  and  a  half  inches  tall,  with  a  very  large  head, 
pale  face,  piercing  eyes  of  grayish  blue,  brown  hair,  a 
smile  that  could  be  sweet  and  captivating,  and  beautiful 
hands. 

In  1791,  when  he  was  twenty-two  years  old,  Napoleon, 
now  first  lieutenant,  visited  Corsica  on  furlough.  Ke- 
maining  too  long,  his  name  was  struck  off  the  army  lists. 
He  returned  to  Paris,  and  anxiously  looked  about  for 
some  way  to  earn  a  living.  He  met  his  schoolmate, 
Bourrienne,  who  usually  paid  for  any  meal  they  took 
together  at  a  restaurant,  as,  although  poor,  he  was  richer 
than  Napoleon.  Each  day  they  had  projects  for  earning 
money.  They  found  some  houses  building,  and  desired 
to  rent  them,  and  then  underlet  them,  but  the  owners 
asked  too  much  to  realize  any  profit.  Napoleon  solicited 
employment  at  the  war  oflftce.  "  Everything  failed," 
says  Bourrienne. 

Bonaparte's  mother,  left  a  widow  with  eight  children  in 
1785,  was,  of  course,  powerless  to  help  Napoleon.  Her 
husband  had  gone  on  business  to  Montpellier  in  the 
south  of  France,  and  died  of  a  cancerous  ulcer  in  the 
stomach  in  the  tliirty-ninth  year  of  his  age.  His  wife 
was  only  thirty-five.  Madame  Bonaparte  was  possessed 
of  wonderful  energy,  great  strength  of  will,  and  excellent 
judgment.  These  her  son  Napoleon  inherited  in  a 
marked  degree. 

She  proved  equal  to  the  care  of  her  fatherless  children. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  7 

"  She  managed  everything,"  said  Napoleon,  "  provided 
for  everything  with  a  prudence  which  could  neither  have 
been  expected  from  her  sex  nor  from  her  age.  Ah,  what 
a  woman !  Where  shall  we  look  for  her  equal  ?  She 
watched  over  us  with  a  solicitude  luiexampled.  Every 
low  sentiment,  every  ungenerous  affection,  was  discour- 
aged and  discarded.  She  suffered  nothing  but  that 
which  was  grand  and  elevated  to  take  root  in  our  youth- 
ful understandings.  She  abhorred  falsehood,  and  would 
not  tolerate  the  slightest  act  of  disobedience.  None  of 
our  faults  were  overlooked.  Losses,  privations,  fatigue, 
had  no  effect  upon  her.  She  endured  all,  braved  all. 
She  had  the  energy  of  a  man,  combined  with  the  gentle- 
ness and  delicacy  of  a  woman." 

When  Bonaparte  was  waiting  in  Paris  for  some  position 
to  open,  the  French  Revolution  had  begun.  On  June  20, 
1792,  a  ragged  mob  of  five  or  six  thousand  men  sur- 
rounded the  Tuileries,  put  a  red  cap  on  the  head  of  Louis 
XVI.,  and  made  him  show  himself  at  the  windows  to 
the  crowd  in  the  garden.  Napoleon  was  indignant,  and 
said  to  Bourrienne,  "  Why  have  they  let  in  all  that  rab- 
ble ?  They  should  sweep  off  four  or  five  hundred  of 
them  with  the  cannon ;  the  rest  would  then  set  off  fast 
enough." 

Napoleon  also  witnessed  the  storming  of  the  Tuileries 
on  Aug.  10,  when  the  Swiss  guards  were  massacred. 
Although  a  Republican  in  sentiment,  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  the  extreme  democracy  of  the  Jacobins,  and  said : 
"If  I  were  compelled  to  choose  between  the  old  mon- 
archy and  Jacobin  misrule,  I  should  infinitely  prefer  the 
former." 

Years  later,  when  Napoleon  was  Emperor,  when  asked 
to  allow  a  person  to  return  to  France  Avho  had  been 


8  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

prominent  in  tlie  downfall  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty,  he 
said,  "  Let  him  know  that  I  am  not  powerful  enough  to 
protect  the  wretches  who  voted  for  the  death  of  Louis 
XVI.  from  the  contempt  and  indignation  of  the  public." 

Corsica  and  Paoli  (who  had  returned  and  become  her 
governor)  were  shocked  at  the  excesses  of  the  French 
Revolution,  and  hoped  and  planned  once  more  for  inde- 
pendence. Finding  themselves  unable  to  achieve  it  alone, 
they  souglit  the  aid  of  England.  Bonaparte  and  his 
family  favored  adherence  to  France,  and  were  banished 
from  the  island,  their  home  plundered,  and  they  made 
their  escape  at  midnight  to  Marseilles.  Here  they  were 
for  some  time  in  extreme  poverty.  Joseph,  the  eldest 
son,  found  employment  as  a  clei'k  in  an  office,  and  in 
August,  1794,  married  Julia  Clari,  the  daughter  of  one 
of  the  ricliest  merchants  of  Marseilles.  This  was  a  great 
pecuniary  benefit  to  the  whole  family. 

Napoleon  had  finally  been  reinstated  in  the  army ;  for 
with  the  Reign  of  Terror  at  home,  and  wars  with  mon- 
archies abroad,  all  fearful  of  the  growth  of  republican 
sentiments  and  consequent  revolutions,  the  French  army 
was  in  need  of  all  its  able  young  men. 

Napoleon's  first  important  work  was  at  the  siege  of 
Toulon.  This  was  the  great  naval  depot  and  arsenal 
of  France.  The  Royalists,  or  followers  of  the  Bourbon 
king,  Louis  XVI.,  had  centred  here,  and,  0})posed  to  the 
republic,  had  surrendered  the  city,  with  its  forts  and 
ships,  to  England. 

The  place  must  be  retaken ;  and  the  Republic  sent  out 
an  army  under  Carteaux,  a  portrait  painter.  For  some 
months  the  siege  was  carried  on,  but  almost  nothing  was 
accomplished.  Sixty  tliousand  men  were  needed,  and 
Carteaux  had  but  twenty-five  thousand. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  9 

Napoleon,  on  his  way  from  Avignon  to  Nice,  passed 
through  Toulon,  stopping  to  see  a  friend  who  introduced 
him  to  Carteaux.  The  young  officer  saw  at  once  the  mis- 
takes of  the  campaign.  "  Instead  of  attacking  the  town," 
said  Napoleon,  "  try  and  establish  batteries  which  shall 
sweep  the  liarbor  and  the  roadstead.  If  you  can  only 
drive  away  tlio  ships,  the  troops  will  not  remain." 

Cai)e  I'Eguillette  separates  the  two  harbors,  and  here 
batteries  were  i)laced  to  sweep  the  sea ;  for  Napoleon  had 
said,  putting  his  linger  on  the  map,  at  the  cape,  '•  Toulon 
is  there  !  " 

As  he  predicted,  tlie  English  ships  were  driven  off 
after  a  terrible  bombardment;  fifteen  thousand  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Toulon  in  dismay  lied  to  the  shi})s  of  the 
allies ;  the  plan  of  Napoleon  had  proved  a  great  success. 

He  was  not  responsible  for  the  liorrors  which  followed. 
The  Royalists  set  fire  to  the  arsenal  and  ships  before 
their  de})arture ;  while  the  town  was  in  flames,  cannon 
from  the  shore  sunk  boat-loads  of  fugitives,  and  hundreds 
in  tlie  city  who  could  not  escape  were  deliberately  shot 
in  tlie  streets  and  in  their  homes,  so  desperate  had 
become  the  hate  between  Royalists  and  Republicans, 
or  really  Jacobins. 

Fouche,  afterwards  prominent  under  the  Empire,  wrote 
to  a  friend,  Dec.  2.'i :  "  We  have  only  one  way  of  celebrat- 
ing victory.  Tliis  evening  we  slu)ot  two  liundred  and 
thirteen  rebels.  Adieu,  my  friend;  tears  of  joy  run 
down  my  cheeks,  and  my  heart  is  overflowing." 

"It  was,"  says  Walter  Scott,  ccmcerning  this  taking  of 
Toulon,  J)e(^  17,  1793,  ''ujion  this  night  of  terror,  i-ou- 
flagration,  tears,  and  blood,  that  the  star  of  Napoleon 
first  ascended  the  horizon  ;  and,  though  it  gleamed  over 
many  a  scene  of  horror  ere  it  set,  it  may  be  doubted 


10  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

whether  its  light  was  ever  blended  with  that  of  one 
more  dreadful." 

For  this  brilliant  undertaking  Napoleon  was  made 
General  of  Artillery.  General  Dugommier,  who  com- 
manded at  Toulon,  said,  "  Promote  this  young  officer,  or 
he  will  promote  himself."  Napoleon  Avas  wounded  in 
his  thigh  by  a  bayonet  thrust  in  one  of  the  charges.  He 
was  at  this  time  but  twenty-four  years  of  age,  poor,  am- 
bitious, and  with  little  prospect  of  his  future  wonderful 
career. 

He  was  sent  to  defend  the  coast  of  Provence,  and  was 
denounced  by  the  Jacobins,  who  said  he  was  building  a 
bastile  at  Marseilles  to  enslave  the  people.  In  Marcli, 
1794,  he  rejoined  the  army  of  Italy  at  Nic(;,  and  was  so 
useful  that  the  commander-in-chief  wrote :  "  I  am  in- 
debted to  the  comprehensive  talents  of  General  ]>onaparte 
for  the  plans  which  have  insured  our  victory." 

In  July,  1794,  he  was  sent  on  a  mission  to  Genoa, 
to  examine  the  fortresses  and  tlie  neighboring  country. 
Meantime,  one  set  of  French  leaders  had  been  superseded 
by  a  set  equally  bad.  Through  jealousy,  and  as  a  friend 
of  the  younger  Iiobes])ierre,  Napoleon  was  arrested  as  a 
*'  susj)ected  person,"  was  two  weeks  in  prison,  and  nearly 
lost  his  life.  He  seems  to  have  been  spared  for  the  self- 
ish reason,  "  the  possible  utility  of  the  military  and  lo(;al 
knowledge  of  tlie  said  l>ona})arte."  He  addressed  an 
ekxpumt  letter  to  his  accusers,  quoted  by  Lanfrey,  in 
which  he  says :  "  Kemove  the  ojipression  which  sur- 
rounds me  ;  give  me  back  tlie  esteem  of  patriots.  An 
hour  afterwards,  if  bad  men  wish  for  my  life,  I  care  so 
little  for  it,  I  liave  so  often  counted  it  for  nothing.  .  .  . 
Yes,  nothing  but  tlie  idea  that  it  may  be  of  use  to  the 
country  gives  me  courage  to  bear  its  weight." 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  11 

Soou  after  this,  to  scatter  such  officers  as  himself,  who 
were  supposed  to  be  Jacobin  in  tendency,  Najwleon  was 
ordered  to  La  Vendee  to  put  down  civil  dissensions.  He 
rebelled  against  being  separated  from  the  army  of  Italy. 
"  You  are  too  young,"  said  Aubrey,  the  Girondist  deputy, 
"  to  be  commander-in-chief  of  artillery." 

"  Men  age  fast  on  a  field  of  battle,"  said  Napoleon, 
"  and  I  am  no  exception," 

For  refusing  to  proceed  to  his  post,  Napoleon's  name 
was  struck  off  the  army  lists,  and  again  he  was  in  Paris, 
out  of  employment.  When  he  and  Bourrienne  took  a  stroll 
at  evening  on  the  Boulevards,  and  saw  the  rich  young 
men  on  horseback,  apparently  living  a  life  of  ease  and  lux- 
ury, "  dandies  with  their  whiskers,"  says  Madame  Junot 
(Duchess  d'Abrantes),  Napoleon  would  exclaim  bitterly, 
"And  it  is  on  such  beings  as  these  that  Fortune  confers 
her  favors.     How  contemptible  is  human  nature  !  " 

He  told  Count  Montholou,  when  in  exile  at  St.  Helena, 
that  at  this  time  he  came  near  committing  suicide  by 
throwing  himself  into  the  river.  With  head  down,  and 
meditating  iipou  his  determination,  he  ran  against  a 
plainly  dressed  man,  who  proved  to  be  Demasis,  a  former 
comrade  in  the  artillery. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  said  to  Napoleon.  ^'  You 
do  not  listen  to  me!  You  do  not  seem  glad  to  see  me! 
What  misfortune  threatens  you?  Y'ou  look  to  me  like  a 
madman  about  to  kill  himself." 

Napoleon  told  liim  liis  needs,  and  his  mother's  poverty. 
"Is  that  all?"  said  Demasis.  "Here  are  six  thousand 
dollars  in  gold,  wliieh  I  can  spare  without  any  incon- 
venience.    Take  tliem,  and  relieve  your  motlier." 

Hardly  aware  of  wliat  he  was  doing,  Nai)oleon  grasped 
the  money,  and  sent  it  to  his   mother.     Afterwards  he 


12  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

could  find  nothing  of  Denuisis.  Fifteen  years  later, 
when  the  Empire  was  near  its  fall,  Napoleon  met  him, 
made  him  accept  sixty  thousand  dollars  to  ]-e})ay  the 
loan  of  six  thousand,  and  appointed  him  director-general 
of  the  crown  gardens,  at  a  salary  of  six  thousand  dollars 
a  year,  and  the  honors  of  an  officer  in  the  household.  He 
also  provided  a  good  situation  for  Demasis'  brother. 

He  never  forgot  a  kindness.  A  humble  shoemaker, 
who  worked  for  him  in  these  days  of  poverty,  and  waited 
for  his  pay,  was  always  employed  by  Naj)oleon  after  he 
became  Emperor,  though  he  was  urged  to  go  to  some  one 
more  fashionable.  A  jeweller,  who  once  trusted  him,  was 
remembered  in  Napoleon's  days  of  prosperity,  and  thus 
made  his  fortune.  To  a  lady,  a  stranger  to  him,  who 
once  was  kind  to  liim  in  sickness  in  these  early  years,  he 
sent  two  thousand  dollars,  hearing  that  her  circumstances 
had  changed.  To  an  old  man  in  Jersey,  who  had  once 
loaned  his  father  twenty-five  louis,  he  sent  ten  times  that 
sum. 

Reverses  began  to  attend  the  army  of  Italy.  When- 
ever it  was  convenient  to  use  his  services,  it  seemed 
always  to  be  remembered  that  he  had  knowledge  and 
sagacity.  Napoleon  was  asked  by  the  director  of  mili- 
tary affairs  to  draw  up  a  plan  of  operations  for  the  army. 
It  was  sent  to  Kellermann,  commander-in-chief  of  the 
army  of  Italy,  who  rejected  it,  saying,  "  Tlie  author  is  a 
fit  inmate  for  a  lunatic  asylum."  Lanfrey  and  other 
historians  consider  the  jdan  altogether  bi-illiant  and 
admirable. 

Napoleon,  by  years  of  study,  had  made  himself  a  mas- 
ter in  the  science  of  war,  as  well  as  along  otlier  lines. 
He  had  made  himself  ready  for  a  great  opportunity,  and 
a  greaf  opportunity  came  to  him. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  13 

France,  in  her  struggle  for  self-govenimeut,  had  adopted 
a  new  constitution,  under  a  Directory  of  live  persons,  with 
a  Council  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  Ancients,  and  a  Coun- 
cil of  Five  Hundred,  somewhat  like  our  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. The  new  government,  though  acceptable  to 
the  provinces,  did  not  please  either  the  Koyalists  or 
Jacobins  of  Paris,  and  the  people,  now  so  used  to  blood- 
shed, resorted  to  force  to  destroy  the  Directory, 

Barras,  one  of  the  Directors,  who  knew  Xapoleon,  im- 
mediately thought  of  him  as  a  young  man  who  could 
quell  a  mob.  "  It  is  that  little  Corsican  officer,"  he  said, 
"  who  will  not  stand  upon  ceremony  ! "  The  Directory 
had  but  about  eight  thousand  soldiers  ;  the  National 
Guard  numbered  forty  thousand.  Napoleon  spent  the 
whole  night  in  turning  the  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries  into 
a  sort  of  camp,  with  artillery  posted  at  all  the  outlets. 
He  armed  all  the  members  of  the  government,  that  they 
might  defend  themselves  if  the  necessity  arose,  and  he 
took  care  to  leave  a  way  of  retreat  open  to  St.  Cloud. 

The  National  Guards  appeared  on  the  morning  of  Oct. 
5, 1795  (13th  Vendemiaire,  as  the  month  was  called  by  the 
Revolutionary  Calendar),  in  front  of  Napoleon's  troops. 
All  day  the  two  armies  were  witliin  fifteen  paces  of  each 
other.  At  four  o'c^lock  in  tlie  afternoon,  General  Danican 
of  the  National  Guards  gave  the  signal  for  attack. 
Najjoleon  mounted  liis  horse,  and  the  fight  began  at 
several  places. 

The  cannon  swept  them  down  at  every  point.  At  six 
o'clock  tlic  batth^,  was  over,  and  order  was  restored  in 
Paris,  .\bont  eighty  only  were  killed,  and  three  or  four 
hundred  wounded,  as  tlie  guns  were  loaded  with  powder 
after  two  discharges.  Napoleon  was,  as  he  deserved  to 
be,  the  hero  of  the  hour.     With  the  utmost  self-posses- 


14  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

sion,  with  a  clear  brain  and  never-failing  courage,  he  had 
been  equal  to  the  emergency. 

Napoleon  was  made  General  of  the  Interior,  with  the 
command  of  Paris.  The  days  of  poverty  were  over.  He 
found  places  for  several  of  his  family,  and  was  much 
sought  after  by  those  in  high  position.  He  was  es- 
pecially good  to  the  poor,  and  the  Duchess  d'Abrantds 
tells  how  he  climbed  to  attics  and  went  down  into  cellars 
to  feed  the  hungry.  As  he  was  stepping  out  of  his  car- 
riage one  day  at  tlie  home  of  the  Duchess,  a  woman  held 
her  dead  child  before  him.  It  had  died  from  want. 
She  had  come  to  ask  him  to  save  her  other  cliildren.  *'  If 
nobody  will  give  me  anything,"  she  said,  "  I  must  even 
take  them  all  five  and  drown  myself  with  them."  Napo- 
leon remembered  how  near  he  had  been  to  drowning 
himself  only  a  little  time  before.  He  obtained  the 
wages  due  to  her  husband,  who  had  been  killed  while 
at  work  on  the  roof  of  the  Tuileries,  and  a  pension  was 
granted  her. 

Soon  after  this  an  attractive  boy  about  fourteen  years 
of  age  came  to  Najjoleon  and  asked  for  the  sword  of  his 
father,  who  was  a  general  of  tlie  Republic,  and  had  been 
jmt  to  death  by  the  Jacobins,  because  he  was  a  Giron- 
dist, or  moderate  Republican. 

"  I  was  so  touched  by  this  affectionate  request,"  said 
Napoleon,  "  that  I  ordered  it  to  be  given  to  him.  This 
boy  was  Eugene  Beauharnais.  On  seeing  the  sword  he 
burst  into  tears.  I  felt  so  affected  by  his  conduct,  tliat 
I  noticed  and  praised  him  much.  A  few  days  after- 
wards his  mother  came  to  return  me  a  visit  of  thanks. 
I  was  struck  with  her  appearance,  and  still  more  with 
her  espritJ^ 

The  young  geneiul  of  twenty -six  became  thoroughly  in 


NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE.  15 

love  with  the  graceful  and  lovable  widow  of  thirty-two. 
Josephine  Tascher,  the  only  child  of  French  parents,  had 
been  born  in  the  Island  of  Martinique,  Jan.  24,  1763. 
She  was  married  when  sixteen  to  Viscount  de  Beauhar- 
nais,  a  major  in  the  army,  who  introduced  her  to  the 
court  of  Marie  Antoinette,  but  who,  with  all  his  wealth 
and  position,  did  not  make  her  life  a  happy  one.  After 
four  years  of  marriage  and  the  birth  of  two  children, 
Hortense  and  Eugene,  to  whom  she  was  most  tenderly 
attached,  she  and  Beauharnais  separated,  and  she  re- 
turned to  Martinicpve,  but  at  his  persistent  request  she 
came  back  to  him  after  three  years. 

On  his  imprisonment  during  the  Keign  of  Terror,  she 
attempted  to  save  him  and  was  thrown  into  prison, 
where  she  narrowly  escaped  the  guillotine.  He  was 
beheaded  July  23,  1794. 

"Josephine,"  says  Meneval,  the  secretary  of  Napoleon 
after  Bourritnme,  '•  was  irresistibly  attractive.  .  .  .  Her 
temper  was  always  the  same.  She  was  gentle  and  kind, 
affable  and  indulgent  with  every  one,  witliout  difference 
of  persons.  She  had  neitlier  a  su[)erior  mind  nor  much 
learning;  but  her  exquisite  politeness,  her  full  acquaint- 
ance with  society,  with  the  court,  and  with  their  inno- 
cent artifices,  made  her  always  know  tlie  best  things  to 
say  or  do." 

Napoleon  found  at  the  home  of  jNfadame  de  Beauhar- 
nais the  most  noted  ])ersons  in  Taris,  and,  what  was  more 
important  for  his  lia]>j)iness,  tlu^  oiu^  woman  whom  lie 
ever  after  loved. 

Years  later  lie  said,  "Josephine  was  truly  a  most 
lovely  woman,  refined,  affable,  and  charming.  .  .  .  She 
Avas  so  kind,  so  humane  —  she  was  the  most  graceful 
lady  and  the  best  woman  in  France.     I  never  saw  her 


16  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

act  inelegantly  during  the  wliole  time  we  lived  together. 
She  possessed  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  different 
shades  of  my  character,  and  evinced  tlie  most  exquisite 
tact  in  turning  this  knowledge  to  the  best  account.  .  .  . 

"  I  was  the  object  of  her  deepest  attachment.  If  I 
went  into  my  carriage  at  midnight  for  a  long  journey, 
there,  to  my  siiprise,  I  found  her,  seated  before  me  and 
awaiting  itiy  arrival.  If  I  attempted  to  dissuade  her 
from  accompanying  me,  she  had  so  many  good  and 
affectionate  reasons  to  urge,  that  it  was  almost  always 
necessary  to  yield.  In  a  word,  she  always  proved  to  me 
a  happy  and  affectionate  wife,  and  I  have  preserved  the 
tenderest  recollections  of  her." 

Barras,  the  ardent  friend  of  Josephine,  nrg(^d  her 
marriage  with  Napoleon,  and  her  children  favored  it. 
She  admired  him,  b\it  hesitated.  She  wrote  a  friend, 
"Ibarras  assures  me  that  if  I  marry  the  general,  he  will 
obtain  for  him  the  appointment  of  commander-in-chief 
of  the  army  of  Italy.  Yesterday  Bonaparte,  speaking 
to  me  of  this  favor,  which  has  already  caused  some 
jealousy  among  liis  companions  in  arms,  althougli  it  is 
not  yet  granted,  said,  '  Do  they  think  I  need  j)atronage 
to  insure  my  success  ?  Some  day  they  will  be  only  too 
happy  if  I  grant  them  mine.  My  sword  is  at  my  side, 
and  that  will  carry  me  a  long  way.'  " 

They  were  married  March  9,  1796,  Napoleon  having 
been  appointed  to  the  command  of  the  army  of  Italy  on 
tlie  preceding  23d  of  February.  He  remained  in  I'aris 
but  a  few  days,  and  then  hastened  to  his  army,  reaching 
Nice  towards  the  last  of  ^Vlarch. 

He  found  an  army  of  about  thirty  thousand  men, 
"without  pay,  without  jirovisions,  witliout  shoes,"  opposed 
to   about    twice   their  numl)er   of    Austrians   and   Sar- 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  17 

dinians.  He  issued  an  address  to  them  :  ''  Soldiers,  you 
are  poorly  fed  and  half-naked.  The  government  owes 
you  much,  but  can  do  nothing  for  you.  Your  patience, 
your  courage,  do  you  honor,  but  they  bring  you  no  ad- 
vantage, no  gloiy.  I  am  about  to  lead  you  into  the  most 
fertile  plains  in  the  world ;  there  you  will  find  larger 
cities  and  rich  provinces ;  there  you  will  find  honor, 
glory,  and  wealth.  Soldiers  of  Italy,  shall  you  lack 
courage  ?  " 

His  soldiers,  who  till  his  deatli  idolized  hiin  and  would 
die  for  1dm,  were  soon  to  prove  on  scores  of  battle-fields 
that  they  never  lacked  courage. 

This  slight,  boyish-looking  general  of  twenty-six  said 
to  his  vetei'an  officers,  "  We  must  hurl  ourselves  on  the 
foe  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  smite  like  it." 

And  this  was  done.  The  first  battle  was  on  April  12, 
at  Montenotte.  The  Austrians  were  routed,  leaving  their 
colors  and  cannon  with  the  French,  and  three  thousand 
dead  and  wounded.  Napoleon  afterwards  said  to  the 
Em])eror  of  Austria,,  "My  title  of  nobility  dates  from 
the  battle  of  Montenotte." 

The  battles  of  Millesimo  and  Mondovi  quickly  fol- 
lowed. On  the  heights  of  Monte  Zemolo,  Napoleon 
looked  out  upon  the  fertile  plains  of  Italy,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Hannibal  crossed  the  Alps,  but  we  have  turned  them  !  " 

Then  he  addressed  his  enthusiastic  soldiers :  '*  In 
fifteen  days,"  lie  said,  "you  have  won  six  victories; 
captured  twenty-one  fiags,  fifty  cannon,  many  fortified 
])laces ;  concpiered  tlu^  richest  i)art  of  Piedmont ;  you 
have  captured  fifteen  thousand  prisoners,  and  killed  and 
wounded  ten  thousand  men.  You  lacked  everything  ; 
you  have  gained  battles  without  cannon  ;  crossed  rivers 
without  bridges ;   made  forced  marches  without  slioes  ; 


18  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

often  bivouacked  without  bread ;  tlie  Republican  pha- 
lanxes were  alone  capable  of  such  extraordinary  deeds. 
Soldiers,  receive  your  due  of  thanks  !  " 

Murat,  his  aide-de-camp,  who  afterwards  married  Na- 
poleon's sister  Caroline,  and  became  King  of  Naples, 
was  sent  to  Paris  with  the  armistice  proposed  by  the 
King  of  Sardinia,  and  Junot  with  the  flags,  which  caused 
tlie  greatest  rejoicing.  Fetes  were  celebrated  at  the 
Champ  de  Mars,  and  Napoleon's  name  was  honored  as  the 
conqueror  of  Italy. 

Naytoleon  writes  to  his  bride:  "Your  letters  are  the 
delight  of  my  days,  and  my  happy  days  are  not  very 
many.  Junot  is  cq,rrying  twenty-two  flags  to  Paris. 
You  must  come  back  with  him ;  do  you  understand  ?  It 
would  be  hopeless  misery,  an  inconsolable  grief,  con- 
tinual agony,  if  I  sliould  have  the  misfortune  of  seeing 
him  come  back  alone,  my  adorable  one.  .  .  .  You  will 
be  here,  by  my  side,  on  my  heart,  in  my  arms !  Take 
wings,  come,  come  !  Put  travel  slowly  ;  the  way  is  long, 
bad,  and  tiresome." 

Almost  daily  he  writes  to  his  wife:  "  ^fy  only  Jose- 
phine, away  from  you,  there  is  no  happiness ;  away  from 
you,  the  world  is  a  desert,  in  which  I  stand  alone,  with 
no  chance  of  tasting  the  delicious  joy  of  pouring  out  my 
heart.  You  have  robbed  me  of  more  than  ;uy  soul ;  you 
are  the  sole  thought  of  my  life.  If  I  am  worn  out  by 
all  the  torment  of  events,  and  fear  the  issue ;  if  men  dis- 
gust me;  if  I  am  ready  to  curse  life,  T  ])laee  my  hand  on 
my  heart,  —  your  imagt;  is  beating'there.'' 

She  is  not  well,  and  does  not  come  to  him,  and  again 
he  writes  :  "  My  dear,  do  remember  to  tell  me  that  you 
are  certain  that  I  love  you  more  than  can  be  imagined  ; 
.  .  .  that  no  hour  passes  that  I  do  not  think  of  you ;  that 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  19 

it  has  never  entered  my  mind  to  think  of  any  other 
woman ;  .  .  .  that  you,  as  I  see  you,  as  you  are,  can 
please  me  and  absorb  my  whole  soul;  that  you  have 
wholly  filled  it ;  that  my  heart  has  no  corner  that  you  do 
not  see,  no  thoughts  tliat  are  not  subordinate  to  you ; 
that  my  strength,  my  arms,  my  intelligence,  are  all 
yours ;  .  .  .  and  that  the  day  when  you  shall  have 
changed,  or  shall  have  ceased  to  live,  will  be  the  day  of 
my  death ;  that  nature,  the  earth,  is  beautiful,  in  my 
eyes,  only  because  you  live  on  it." 

General  Marniont  says  in  his  memoii-s :  "  I^onaparte, 
however  occupied  he  may  have  been  with  his  greatness, 
the  interests  intrusted  to  him,  and  with  his  future,  had, 
nevertheless,  time  to  devote  to  feelings  of  auotlier  sort ; 
he  was  continually  thinking  of  his  wife.  .  .  .  He  often 
spoke  to  me  of  her,  and  of  his  love,  with  all  tlie  frank- 
ness, fire,  and  illusion  of  a  very  young  man.  .  .  .  During 
a  trip  we  made  togetlier  at  this  time,  to  ins})ect  the  places 
in  Piedmont  that  had  fallen  into  our  liands,  one  niorn- 
ingi  at  Tortona,  the  glass  in  front  of  his  wife's  portrait, 
which  he  always  carried  with  him,  broke  in  his  hands. 
He  grew  frightfully  pale,  and  suffered  the  keenest 
alarm." 

Again  he  says,  "  Never  did  a  purer,  truer,  or  more 
exclusive  love  fill  a  man's  heart,  or  tlie  heart  of  so  ex- 
traordinary a  man." 

Lanfrey  says,  "Tn  this  love,  which  has  been  said  to  be 
tlie  only  one  that  touched  Ids  heart,  all  the  fire  and  fiame 
of  his  masterful  natur^  showed  itself." 

Napoleon  pusluul  on  his  trooi)s  to  coiupier  the  Austrian 
Beaulieu,  crossed  the  river  l*o  at  Piaeenza,  and  overtook 
the  enemy  at  the  town  of  Lodi  on  the  Adda  Iliver.  The 
town  was  taken  by  the  French ;   but,  to  cross  the  Adda 


20  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

and  reach  Beaulieu,  it  was  necessary  to  storm  a  narrow 
wooden  bridge,  which  was  defended  by  artillery  and  by 
from  twelve  to  sixteen  thousand  Austrians.  Kapoleon 
immediately  placed  a  battery  on  his  own  side  of  the 
river,  sent  a  detachment  of  cavalry  to  ford  the  river  and 
attack  the  enemy's  rear,  and  tlien,  at  the  head  of  several 
thousand  men,  bade  them  force  a  passage  across  the 
bridge. 

The  French  were  mowed  down  by  the  Austrian  can- 
non. They  wavered,  when  Napoleon  seized  a  standard, 
and,  with  Lannes  and  one  or  two  other  officers,  rushed 
among  the  troops  and  insjjired  them  to  gain  a  complete 
victory.  Lannes  was  the  first  to  cross  the  bridge  and 
reach  the  Austrian  gunners,  who  were  sabred  at  their 
guns,  and  Napoleon  the  second.  Lannes  was  promoted 
on  the  spot  for  his  valor.  So  proud  were  the  troops  that 
their  general  should  figlit  in  the  ranks,  that  they  ever 
after  called  him  their  "  Little  Corporal."  The  conflict 
was  a  bloody  one.  The  Austrian  loss  was  much  heavier 
than  the  French. 

Napoleon  said,  "  It  was  not  till  after  the  terrible  pas- 
sage of  the  hrvJge  of  Lodi  that  the  idea  shot  across  my 
mind  that  I  might  become  a  decisive  actor  in  the  politi- 
cal arena.  Then  arose,  for  the  first  time,  the  spark  of 
great  ambition." 

He  said  to  his  aide-de-camp,  Marmont,  "  In  our  time, 
no  one  has  devised  anytliing  great ;  I  must  set  an  ex- 
ample." 

On  May  15,  1706,  Napoleon  entJfcred  Milan  in  triumph. 
The  people  hated  the  nde  of  Austria,  and  hoped  for  lib- 
erty under  the  French  Republic.  A  triumphal  arch  was 
erected  in  the  city,  and  flowers  were  scattered  in  the 
path  of  the  French.     To  his  soldiers,  "  who  had  rushed," 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  21 

he  said,  "  like  a  torrent  from  tlie  lieiglit  of  tlie  Apen- 
nines," Napoleon  gave  all  the  glory. 

In  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  the  Directory  in 
France,  he  levied  twenty  million  francs  on  Milan,  and 
took  some  of  her  best  art  works  to  Paris.  The  army  was 
snpported  by  the  countries  through  which  it  passed,  as 
was  Sherman's  in  our  Civil  War, 

Late  in  June,  Josephine  reached  IVIilan,  and  for  a  brief 
period  they  were  ha[)py ;  but  Napoleon  was  obliged  very 
soon  to  be  at  the  front.  The  ^\ar  now  centred  about 
Mantua,  which  was  strongly  fortified.  Seven  or  eight 
thousand  French  troops  were  besieging  it,  when  it  was 
ascertained  that  Wtirmser,  the  Austrian  general,  was 
inarching  against  the  French  with  seventy  thousand  men, 
in  three  armies,  while  Napoleon  had  but  about  forty-five 
thousand. 

At  once  the  siege  of  ^fantua  was  i-aised,  the  gun-car- 
riages burned,  the  })owder  thrown  into  the  river,  the 
cannon  spiked,  and  the  French  forces  were  led  against 
Wttrmser. 

Napoleon,  with  his  usual  celerity  and  tact,  —  he  used 
to  say,  "  War,  like  government,  is  mainly  decided  by 
tact,"  —  managed  to  defeat  each  of  the  three  Austrian 
armies  in  turn. 

At  Lonato  the  Austrians  lost  ten  thousand  in  killed, 
wounded,  and  prisoners.  The  day  after  the  battle,  one 
of  the  Austrian  divisions,  reduced  to  four  thousand  men, 
wandered  into  Tionato,  and  demand(>d  tlie  surrender  of 
the  garrison  of  twelve  hundred.  Napoleon  called  his 
staff  together;  and  when  the  bandage  was  removed  from 
the  e^'es  of  the  officer,  he  said  with  authority,  '•  Go  and 
tell  your  general  that  I  give  him  eight  minutes  to  lay 
down  his  arms  !  "     The  Austrians  surrendered,  and  were 


22  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

soon  chagrined  to  find  that  lour  thousand  had  succumbed 
to  twelve  hundred  Frenclinien, 

Napoleon  said  at  Lonato,  ''  I  was  at  ease  ;  the  Thirty- 
second  was  there !  "  So  rejoiced  were  the  men  at  these 
words  that  tliey  had  tliem  embroidered  on  their  regi- 
mental flag. 

In  this  short  campaign  twenty  tliousand  Austrians  liad 
been  killed  and  wounded,  fifteen  thousand  taken  pris- 
oners, with  seventy  pieces  of  artillery,  and  twenty-two 
stands  of  colors.     The  latter  were  sent  to  Paris. 

Early  in  September,  Napoleon  again  defeated  Wttrmser 
at  Bassano.  After  the  battle,  at  midnight  Napoleon 
rode  over  the  battle-field  by  moonlight,  the  quiet  broken 
only  by  the  moans  of  the  wounded  and  dying.  Suddenly 
a  dog  sprang  from  beneath  the  cloak  of  liis  dead  master, 
ruslied  to  Napoleon  as  though  asking  aid,  and  then  back 
to  the  body,  licking  the  face  and  hands  of  the  dead,  and 
howling  piteously. 

Napoleon  was  strongly  moved,  and  said  years  afterward, 
"I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  no  incident  upon  any  field 
of  battle  ever  produced  so  deep  an  impression  upon  my 
feelings.  '  This  man,'  thought  I, '  nmst  have  had  among 
his  comrades  friends,  and  yet  here  he  lies  forsaken  by 
all  except  his  faithful  dog.'  .  .  .  Certainly,  in  that  mo- 
ment, I  should  have  been  unable  to  refuse  any  recpiest 
to  a  supi)liant  enemy." 

When  at  St.  Helena,  Madame  Montholon,  seeming  to 
be  afraid  of  a  dog.  Napoleon  said,  "  He  who  does  not  love 
a  dog  has  never  known  what  real  fidelity  means." 

Austria  soon  put  anotlier  general  in  the  field  with 
over  sixty  thousand  men.  She  was  determined  not  to 
lose  Italy.  At  first  the  French  army  lost  some  battles, 
the   general-in-chief   not  being  with    tliem.      When   he 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  23 

caiue  to  his  army,  he  said  to  some  regiments,  "  Soldiers, 
I  am  not  satisfied  with  you.  You  have  shown  neitlier 
discipline,  constancy,  nor  courage.  ,  .  ,  Let  it  be  written 
on  the  colors,  '  They  are  not  of  the  army  of  Italy.'  " 
•  The  men  seemed  heart-broken.  ''  Place  us  in  the  van 
of  the  army,"  they  said,  "  and  you  shall  then  judge 
whether  we  do  not  belong  to  the  army  of  Italy." 

They  were  soon  put  to  the  test.  Xapoleon  marched 
out  of  Verona  on  the  night  of  Nov.  14,  descended 
the  Adige  river,  and  fell  upon  the  rear  of  Alvinzi,  the 
Austrian  general,  at  Areola.  The  village  is  surrounded 
by  marshes,  crossed  by  causeways  or  bridges. 

When  tlie  French  rushed  upon  the  bridges,  they  were 
repulsed  by  the  guns  of  the  Austrians.  Kapoleon  sprang 
from  his  horse,  seized  a  standard,  and  shouted,  "  Follow 
your  general ! "  but  he  was  borne  by  the  struggling 
soldiers  oft"  the  bridge  into  the  marsh. 

Frenzied  at  the  probable  loss  of  their  general,  the 
French  fought  desperately.  Muiron,  who  had  saved 
Napoleon  at  Toulon  when  he  was  wounded  in  the  thigh, 
covered  his  general  with  his  own  body,  and  received  his 
death  wound  from  a  shell.  Lannes  received  three  wounds 
in  endeavoring  to  j)rotect  Napoleon,  who  was  finally  ex- 
tricated, and  was  again  at  the  head  of  the  cohunn.  After 
three  days  of  battle,  the  French  were  victorious.  It  is 
estimated  that  twenty  thousand  men  perislied  in  the 
swamps  of  Areola. 

Napoleon  wrote  a  letter  of  sympathy  to  the  3'oung 
widow  of  Muiron,  wlio  in  a  few  weeks  di(>d  at  tlie  birth 
of  a  lifeless  child. 

To  the  Directory  he  wrote :  '*  Never  was  a  field  of 
battle  more  valiantly  disputed  than  the  conflict  at 
Areola.      I    have    scarcely   any   generals   left.       Their 


24  NAPOLEON   liONAPAUTE. 

bravery  and  their  patriotic  eiitluisiasni  are  without 
example." 

In  the  midst  of  this  toil  and  carnage,  Napoleon  could 
find  time  to  write  to  Josephine.  She  had  followed  him 
for  a  wliile  after  coming  to  Milan,  but  her  dangers  were 
so  great  that  it  was  soon  found  to  be  im^wssible. 

After  Areola  he  writes  her :  "  At  length,  my  adored 
Josephine,  I  live  again.  Death  is  no  longer  before  me, 
and  glory  and  honor  are  still  in  my  breast.  .  .  .  Soon 
Mantua  will  be  ours,  and  then  thy  husband  will  fold  thee 
in  his  arms,  and  give  thee  a  thousand  proofs  of  his  ardent 
affection.  I  shall  proceed  to  Milan  as  soon  as  I  can ;  I 
am  a  little  fatigued.  I  have  received  letters  from  Eugene 
and  Hortense.  I  am  delighted  with  the  children.  .  .  . 
Adieu,  my  adorable  Josephine.  Think  of  me  often. 
Death  alone  can  break  the  union  wliich  sym[)athy,  love, 
and  sentiment  have  formed.  Let  me  have  news  of  your 
health.     A  thousand  and  a  thousand  kisses.*' 

If  she  does  not  write  often  he  is  distressed ;  "  Three 
days  without  a  word  from  you,"  he  writes,  "and  I  have 
written  you  several  times.  This  absence  is  horrible ; 
the  nights  are  long,  tiresome,  dull ;  the  days  are  monot- 
onous. ...  I  do  not  really  live  away  from  you;  my 
life's  happiness  is  only  to  be  with  my  sweet  Josephine. 
Tliink  of  me  !  write  to  me  often,  —  very  often  ;  it  is  the 
only  balm  in  absence  which  is  cruel,  but  I  liope  will  be 
short.  .  .  .  Day  before  yesterday  I  was  in  the  field  all 
day.  Yesterday  I  stayed  in  bed.  A  fever  and  a  raging 
headache  i»revented  me  from  writing  to  my  dear  one ; 
but  I  received  her  letters.  I  i)ressed  tliem  to  my  heart 
and  my  lii)S  ;  and  the  pang  of  absence,  a  hundred  miles 
apart,  vanished." 

Yet,  with  all  this  intensity  of  feeling,  Napoleon  had 


NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.  25 

wonderful  self-command.  lie  said,  '*  Nature  seems  to 
have  calculated  that  I  should  endure  great  reverses. 
She  has  given  me  a  mind  of  marble.  Thunder  cannot 
ruffle  it.     The  shaft  merely  glides  along." 

Austria  made  another  desperate  effort  to  overcome 
Napoleon  and  save  WUrmser,  shut  up  in  Mantua.  At 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Jan.  14,  1797,  the  battle  of 
Kivoli  began.  For  twelve  hours  Napoleon  was  in  the 
hottest  of  the  fight.     Three  horses  were  shot  under  him. 

After  a  desperate  but  victorious  battle,  the  troops 
marched  all  night,  conquered  Provera  before  Mantua 
the  next  day,  and  La  Favorita  on  the  third  day.  The 
Austrian  army  had  lost  thirty  thousand  men  in  three 
days,  of  whom  twenty  thousand  were  taken  prisoners. 
Napoleon,  in  his  report  of  the  battle  of  Favorita,  spoke 
of  the  terrible  Fifty-seventh.  Thereafter  tlie  Fifty- 
seventh  adopted  the  name  of  "  The  Terrible,"  proud  of 
this  distinction  of  their  chief. 

Massena's  men  had  marched  and  fought  incessantly 
for  four  days  and  nights.  No  wonder  the  Austrians 
said,  "  The  French  do  not  march,  they  fly."  Napoleon 
wrote,  ''  The  lioman  legions  used  to  make  twenty-four 
miles  a  day ;  our  men  make  thirty,  and  fight  in  tlie 
intervals."  .  .  . 

AVUrmser  surrendered  Mantua  Feb.  o,  17U7.  Twenty- 
seven  thousand  men  had  died  of  wounds  or  sickness  since 
the  commencement  of  the  siege.  The  liorses  liad  all 
been  eaten,  and  tlie  city  could  sustain  itself  no  longer. 
Wttrmser  had  declared  that  he  could  hold  out  for  a  year. 
But  Naj)oleon  knew  that  so  brave  a  marshal  as  WUrm- 
ser would  not  surrender  unless  reduced  to  the  last 
extremity. 

He  therefore  allowed  WUrmser  to  retire  with  all  his 


26  NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

staff  and  two  thousand  cavalry.  He  surrendered  to 
France  eighteen  thousand  prisoners.  WUrmser  wished 
to  sahite  the  young  concjueror  of  twenty -seven ;  but 
Napoleon  had  gone  to  Bologna,  not  liking  to  sul>ject  tlie 
marshal  of  seventy  to  humiliation.  Lanfrey  thinks 
this  was  done  for  effect,  but  there  seems  no  good  reason 
for  always  imputing  bad  motives  to  Napoleon.  A  man 
so  worshipped  by  his  soldiers,  and,  indeed,  by  the  nation, 
had  much  that  was  noble  and  refined  in  his  nature. 

Wiirmser,  out  of  gratitude  to  Napoleon,  saved  his  life 
at  Bologna,  by  making  known  to  him  a  plot  to  poison 
him. 

Napoleon  now  turned  his  attention  towards  the  Papal 
States.  The  Pope  had  no  love  for  the  **  godless  Republic." 
Thousands  of  priests  had  fled  from  France  to  Rome. 
Austria  and  Rome  were  closely  allied,  and  both  ready  to 
sustain  war  against  France  whenever  an  opportunity 
offered. 

The  Directory  had  written  to  Napoleon  "that  the 
Roman  Catholic  religion  Avould  always  be  the  irreconcil- 
able enemy  of  the  Republic,"  but  Napoleon  bore  no  ill- 
will  towards  his  mother's  faith  and  the  faith  in  which  he 
himself  died. 

He  issued  a  proclamation  in  which  he  said,  "  The 
French  soldier  carries  in  one  hand  tlie  bayonet,  tlie 
guaranty  of  victory,  and  in  the  otlu'r  an  olive  branch, 
the  symbol  of  peace  and  ])ledge  of  his  jn-otection." 

When  within  three  days'  march  of  Rome,  the  Poi^e 
sued  for  peace,  and  the  ti-oaty  of  Tolentino  was  signed 
Feb.  11),  1797. 

Napoleon  writes  to  J<)sei)liiiie  on  tlie  .same  day :  "  Peace 
has  just  been  signed  with  Rome.  P>ologna,  Ferrara,  the 
Komagna,  are  ceded  to  the  Republic.     The  Pope  gives 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  27 

US  shortly  thirty  million  [francs]  and  many  works  of 
art.  .  .  . 

"  My  dear,  I  beg  of  you  think  of  me  often,  and  write 
me  every  day.  .  .  .  You,  to  whom  nature  has  given  intel- 
ligence, gentleness,  and  beauty,  you,  who  rule  alone  over 
my  heart,  you,  who  doubtless  know  only  too  well  the 
absolute  power  you  exercise  over  my  heart,  write  to  me, 
think  of  me,  and  love  me.     Ever  yours." 

Austria  was  not  yet  humbled.  Napoleon  determined 
to  march  against  Vienna.  The  young  Archduke  Charles, 
brother  of  ^he  ruler  of  Austria,  was  in  command  of  the 
Austrian  army.  "  He  is  a  man,"  said  Napoleon,  ''  whose 
conduct  can  never  attract  blame.  .  .  .  More  than  all,  he 
is  a  good  man,  and  that  includes  everything  when  said 
of  a  prince." 

Charles  had  beaten  Napoleon's  generals  on  the  Rhine, 
but  he  could  not  b(>at  the  "  Little  Corporal."  His  fifty 
thousand  men  melted  away  as  they  fled,  wounded  and 
distracted,  over  the  Alps. 

When  witliin  sight  of  Vienna,  Napoleon  proposed 
peace ;  and  Austria,  tired  of  war  for  a  time  at  least, 
accepted  the  conditions. 

Early  in  May,  France  declared  war  against  the  Venetian 
Republic.  The  latter  had  been  neutral,  although  both 
Austrians  and  French  had  crossed  her  territory.  Her 
aristocracy  had  no  sympathy  with  the  French  Republic, 
and  preferred  Austria.  Perhaps  to  guard  herself  from 
both  nations,  she  raised  an  army  of  sixty  thousand  men, 
and  put  herself  in  the  attitude  of  armed  neutrality.  She 
refused  to  ally  herself  to  France.  "  Ue  lu'utral,  then," 
said  Na])oleoM ;  '•  but  renuMuber,  if  yo'i  violate  your 
neutrality,  if  you  harass  my  troops,  if  you  cut  off  my 
supplies,  I  will  take  ample   vengeance.  .  .  .  The  hour 


28  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

that  witnesses  the  treachery  of  Venice  shall  terminate 
her  independence." 

Whether  or  not  her  government  desired  to  keep  the 
peace,  insurrections  arose  among  the  people  in  Verona 
and  elsewhere,  French  soldiers  were  killed,  Xaix)leon 
took  "ample  vengeance,"  and  in  the  treaty  of  Campo 
Formio,  Oct.  17,  1797,  Venice  was  handed  over  to 
Austria.  The  Republic  ceased  to  exist.  In  taking  the 
hated  oath  of  allegiance  to  Austria,  the  ex-Doge  of 
Venice  became  insensible,  and  died  soon  after. 

Napoleon  now  returned  to  Milan,  and  for  p,  time  lived 
in  peace  and  happiness  at  the  Serbelloni  Palace.  Jose- 
phine won  every  heart  by  her  grace  and  her  kindness. 
Napoleon  said,  "  I  conquer  provinces,  but  Josephine  wins 
hearts." 

Madame  de  Remusat  wrote :  "  Love  seemed  to  come 
every  day  to  place  at  her  feet  a  new  conquest  over  a 
people  entranced  with  its  conqueror." 

The  people  waited  to  see  Napoleon  pass  in  and  out  of 
his  palace.  They  did  him  honor  as  though  he  were 
a  king.  He  had  sent  for  his  mother,  his  brothers 
Joseph  and  Louis,  and  his  beautiful  sister  Pauline,  six- 
teen years  of  age,  of  whom  Arnault,  the  poet,  said,  "  if 
she  was  the  prettiest  person  in  the  world,  she  was  also 
the  most  frivolous." 

Imbert  de  8aint-Amand,  in  liis  "  Citizeiiess  Bonaparte," 
quotes  this  incident  to  show  Josephine's  jKjwer  over  her 
husband.  "  He  was  absolutely  faithful  to  her,"  says 
Saint-Amand,  "and  this  at  a  time  when  there  was  not  a 
beauty  in  Milan  who  was  not  setting  her  cap  for  him." 

Josephine  owned  a  pug  dog.  Fortune,  which,  when  she 
was  imprisoned  in  the  Reign  of  Terror,  was  brought  to 
her  cell  with  a  letter  concealed  in  his  collar.     Ever  since 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  29 

she  had  been  extremely  fond  of  him.  They  were  all  at 
the  Castle  of  Montebello,  a  few  leagues  from  Milan, 
during  the  warm  weather.  "  You  see  that  fellow  there  ?  " 
said  Napoleon  to  Arnault,  pointing  to  the  dog  who  lay 
on  the  sofa  beside  his  mistress,  "  he  is  my  rival.  When 
I  married  I  wanted  to  put  him  out  of  my  wife's  room, 
but  I  was  given  to  understand  that  I  anight  go  away 
myself  or  share  it  with  him.  I  was  annoyed ;  but  it  was 
to  take  or  to  leave,  and  I  yielded.  The  favorite  was  not 
so  accommodating,  and  he  left  his  mark  on  my  leg." 

Fortune  barked  at  everything,  and  used  to  bite  other 
dogs.  The  cook's  dog,  a  mastiff,  returned  the  bite  one 
day,  and  killed  Fortune.  Josephine  was  in  despair ;  but 
the  mischief  was  done,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

Nov.  17  Napoleon  left  Milan,  and,  after  a  contin- 
ued ovation  along  the  route,  reached  Paris  Dec.  5,  where, 
a  change  having  taken  place  in  the  government,  he 
thought  it  wise  to  be  for  a  time.  Tliough  the  Directory 
was  jealous  of  tlie  rising  power  of  Napoleon,  the  people 
demanded  a  magnificent  reception  for  him,  which  was 
prepared  in  the  Luxembourg. 

Napoleon  made  an  address  which  was  eagerly  listened 
to,  and  the  people  were  wild  with  enthusiasm.  Thiers 
says,  "  All  heads  were  overcome  with  the  intoxication." 
Talleyrand  gave  a  great  ball  costing  over  twelve  thousand 
francs.  Bourrienne,  his  secretary,  remarked  that  it 
must  be  agreeable  to  "  see  his  fellow-citizens  so  eagei'ly 
running  after  liim." 

"  Bah !  the  ])eo])le  woidd  crowd  as  fast  to  see  me  if  I 
were  going  to  the  scaffold,"  was  Napoleon's  reply.  So 
well  did  he  understand  human  nature. 

He  said  to  Bourrienne,  "  Were  I  to  remain  in  Paris 
long,  doing  nothing,  I   should   be  lost.      In  this  great 


30  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

Babylon  one  reputation  displaces  another.  Let  me  be 
seen  but  three  times  at  the  theatre  and  I  shall  no  longer 
excite  attention  ;  so  I  shall  go  there  but  seldom." 

Napoleon  was  made  a  member  of  the  Institute,  in  the 
class  of  the  Sciences  and  Arts.  This  honor  he  greatly 
valued,  writing  to  the  president  of  the  class,  "  I  feel  well 
assured  that,  before  I  can  be  their  equal,  I  must  long  be 
their  scholar.  .  .  .  True  conquests  —  the  only  ones  which 
leave  no  regret  behind  them  —  are  those  which  are  made 
over  ignorance.  The  most  honorable,  as  well  as  the 
most  useful,  occupation  for  nations  is  the  contributing  to 
the  extension  of  human  knowledge." 

"  He  had,"  says  Uourrienne,  "  an  extreme  aversion  to 
mediocrity,"  or  to  people  who  are  too  indolent  to  read 
and  improve  themselves.  "  Mankind,"  he  said,  "  are,  in 
the  end,  always  governed  by  superiority  of  intellectual 
qitalities." 

The  Directory  were  anxious  for  an  attack  upon  Eng- 
land, which  had  joined  the  Coalition  against  France  in 
1793,  and  was  her  most  formidable  enemy.  "Go  there," 
said  Barras,  "and  capture  the  giant  Coi-sair  that  infests 
the  seas ;  go  punish  in  London  outrages  that  have  too 
long  gone  unpunished." 

Arnault  said  to  Napoleon,  "The  Directory  wishes  to 
get  you  away  ;  France  wishes  to  keep  you." 

"  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  make  a  tour  of  the  coast," 
said  Napoleon  to  Bourrienne.  "Sliould  tlie  expedition 
to  Britain  i)rove  too  hazardous,  as  I  much  fear  that  it 
will,  the  army  of  England  will  become  the  .army  of  the 
East,  and  we  will  go  to  Egyi)t."  He  sjient  a  week  in 
looking  over  the  ground,  and  said,  '•  I  will  not  hazard  it. 
I  would  not  thus  sport  with  the  fate  of  France." 

He   determined   to   colonize  Egypt.     He  would   take 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  31 

with  him  men  of  science,  artists,  and  artisans.  He  said 
to  Montholon  at  St.  Helena,  "  Were  the  French  once 
established  in  Egypt,  it  would  be  imi)0ssible  for  the 
English  to  maintain  themselves  hmg  in  India.  Squad- 
rons constructed  on  the  shores  of  the  Ked  Sea,  pro- 
visioned with  the  products  of  the  country,  and  equipped 
and  manned  by  the  French  troops  stationed  in  Egypt, 
would  infallibly  make  us  masters  of  India,  and  at  a 
moment  when  England  least  expected  it." 

The  fleet  set  sail  from  Toulon  May  19,  1798,  with 
forty  thousand  men  besides  ten  thousand  sailors.  Jose- 
phine came  to  Toulon  to  say  good-by,  and  wished  to  go 
with  her  husband,  but  this  would  have  been  most  unwise. 

The  fleet  arrived  off  Malta  June  10,  which,  with  almost 
no  opposition,  surrendered  to  the  French  its  twelve  hun- 
dred pieces  of  cannon,  its  ten  thousand  pounds  of  pow- 
der, its  ships,  and  its  forty  thousand  muskets. 

On  June  30  the  fleet  appeared  before  AleJ^ndria, 
which  was  soon  captured.  Then  the  army  set  out  to 
cross  the  desert  towards  Cairo. 

Tlie  heat  was  intense,  they  suffered  for  lack  of  water, 
and  murnnired  at  the  Directory.  Napoleon  bivouacked 
in  their  midst,  and  dined  on  lentils. 

On  July  21  they  came  in  sight  of  tlie  Pyramids.  The 
whole  army  halted.  "  Soldiers,"  said  Napoleon,  "  from 
the  summit  of  those  pyramids  forty  centuries  look  down 
upon  you !  " 

IJofore  them  lay  the  intrenclied  camp  of  Embabeh, 
with  ten  tliousand  Mameluke  horsemen  mider  Mourad 
r>ey.  These  charged  \ipon  tlie  immovable  squares  of  the 
French  only  to  be  cut  to  pieces  by  bayonets. 

They  fought  desperately,  but  were  routed,  and  many 
of  them  driven  into  the  Nile.     Over  two  thousand  per- 


32  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

ished,  while  the  French  did  not  lose  over  one  hundred 
and  fifty  in  killed  and  wounded.  "The  banks  of  the 
Nile,"  says  Bourrienne,  "  were  strewed  with  heaps  of 
bodies,  which  the  waves  were  every  moment  washing 
into  the  sea."  Tlie  soldiers  bent  their  bayonets  into 
hooks,  and  for  days  fished  up  the  bodies  of  the  Mame- 
lukes, on  each  of  which  they  found  from  five  to  six  hun- 
dred louis  in  gold. 

Ten  days  after  this  battle  of  the  Pyramids,  the  French 
fleet  was  destroyed  by  Nelson  in  the  terrible  battle  of 
the  Nile.  Admiral  lirueys  was  killed,  and  the  bodies 
of  his  men  seemed  to  fill  the  Bay  of  Aboukir. 

Napoleon  was  virtuall}'  a  prisoner  in  Egypt.  The 
blow  was  irreparable.  The  army  was  despondent,  but 
Napoleon  was  calm.  "  Unfortunate  Brueys,"  he  said, 
"  what  have  you  done  !  " 

It  \\j,s  evident  that  lie  must  oi'ganize  Egypt  as  soon  as 
possible.  He  established  in  Cairo  an  Institute  of  Arts 
and  Sciences,  he  built  factories,  and  he  planned  two 
canals,  one  uniting  the  lied  Sea  with  the  Mediterranean 
across  the  Isthmus  of  Suez,  and  the  other  connecting  the 
Red  Sea  with  the  Nile  at  Cairo. 

Meantime  France  was  threatened  with  Avar  on  every 
side.  Russia  and  Turkey  had  joined  hands  with  Eng- 
land and  Austria.  They  were  sweeping  over  Italy. 
Turkey  liad  raised  an  army  in  Syria,  and  Najwleon 
hastened  thither  with  thirteen  thousand  men  over  a 
desert  of  seventy-five  leagues. 

He  took  El  Arish  Feb.  20,  1701),  then  Gaza;  then 
Jaffa  was  taken  by  assault,  as  the  garrison  refused  to 
yield,  and  beheaded  the  messenger  sent  to  them,  putting 
his  head  on  a  pole.  The  massacre  which  followed  was 
horrible.     Some  two  tliousand  prisoners  were  taken  to 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  33 

the  seashore  and  shot  by  Napoleon's  order.  Bourrienne 
says,  Napoleon  "  yielded  only  in  the  last  extremity,  and 
was  one  of  those,  perhaps,  who  beheld  the  massacre  with 
the  deepest  pain." 

Napoleon  has  been  greatly  blamed  for  this  act.  These 
men  would,  of  course,  have  gone  back  to  the  enemy,  and 
the  Turks  themselves  give  no  quarter ;  and  yet,  for  hu- 
manity's sake,  one  wishes  that  they  could  have  been 
spared. 

After  the  battle  at  Jaffa  the  French  began  the  siege 
of  St.  Jean  d'Acre,  where  Djezzar,  which  name  signifies 
butcher,  the  head  of  the  army,  resided.  The  siege  lasted 
sixty  days.  Sir  Sidney  Smith  of  England,  with  two 
ships  of  war,  assisted  the  fort,  and  Phelippeaux,  an  old 
schoolmate  of  Napoleon  at  Brienne,  directed  tlie  artillery. 
Napoleon's  battering  train,  sent  forward  by  sea,  had 
been  taken  by  the  English.  The  siege  had  to  be  raised, 
four  thousand  of  the  French  being  disabled,  and  the 
army  retreated  to  Jaffa.  The  i)lague  was  decimating 
the  ranks;  and  Napoleon,  to  inspire  his  men,  went  among 
the  plague-stricken  soldiers  and  often  touched  them. 
The  wounded  and  sick  were  carried  on  horses,  while 
Napoleon  and  all  his  officers  went  on  foot.  Napoleon 
said,  "  Sir  Sidney  Smith  made  me  miss  my  destiny." 

Napoleon  defeated  tlie  Turks  at  Aboukir,  July  25, 
with  a  loss  to  them  of  ten  thousand  men,  and  then,  learn- 
ing of  the  perilous  condition  of  France  in  her  wars  with 
the  allied  powers,  hastened  to  Paris,  leaving  General 
Kleber  in  charge  in  Egyjit.  Napoleon  narrowly  missed 
being  captured  by  the  English  cruisers. 

France  was  overjoyed  at  his  return.  Bells  were  rung 
and  bonfires  kindled\  He  reached  Paris  Oct.  IG,  1709. 
Josephine  had  gone  to  Lyons  to  meet  him.      He  had 


34  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

started  for  I'aris  l)y  a  different  route,  and  she  missed 
him. 

When  sli(!  roturncd  Napoh'on  refused  to  see  lier. 
Whik',  in  E.ufypt  Jnnot  had  foolishly  told  him  some  gos- 
sip about  Josephine,  who  was  oljliged  to  he  courteous  to 
everybody,  which  had  made  him  jealous.  It  probably 
came  from  Najwleon's  brothers,  who  disliked  her  great 
influence  over  him. 

Josephine  was  nearly  heart-broken.  She  had  not  seen 
Napoleon  for  a  year  and  a  half,  lioth  Euj^'ene  and  Ilor- 
tcnse  begged  that  Napoleon  would  take  their  mother 
back  into  his  heart. 

Finally  he  opened  his  door,  and  with  a  stern  look  at 
Josei)hiue,  said  to  Eugene,  then  eighteen,  who  had  just 
returned  with  him  from  Egypt,  "  As  for  you,  you  shall 
not  suffer  for  your  mother's  misdeeds  ;  I  shall  keep  you 
with  me." 

With  commendable  s]nrit,  the  boy,  who  idolized  his 
mother,  replied,  "  No,  (Jeneral ;  I  bid  you  farewell  on 
the  spot." 

Seeing  his  mistake,  he  pressed  Eugene  to  his  heart, 
folded  Josephine  in  his  arms,  and  sent  for  his  brother 
Lucien,  to  show  him  how  thoroughly  he  and  Josephine 
were  reconciled  to  each  other. 

Naix)leou  had  reached  Paris  at  an  ojiportune  moment. 
The  Directory  were  disliked,  and  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  overturn  the  government.  A  dinner  was  given 
to  Napoleon  at  the  Temj)le  of  Vicitory  by  five  or  six  hun- 
dred meml)ers  of  the  two  ('oiincils,  the  Ancients,  and 
the  Five  Hundred.  In  the  evening  Josephine  did  the 
honors  of  the  drawing-room  at  their  own  house.  "  She 
fascinated  every  one  who  came  near  her,"  says  Saint-A- 
maud,  "  by  her  ex(piisite  grace  and  charming  courtesy. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  35 

All  the  brusqueness  and  violence  of  l>onaparte's  manners 
were  tempered  by  the  soothing  and  insinuating  gentle- 
ness of  his  amiable  and  kindly  wife." 

Only  a  few  jjersons  were  in  Napoleon's  secret.  By  a 
provision  of  the  Constitution,  the  Council  of  the  Ancients, 
in  case  of  peril  to  the  Republic,  could  convoke  the  Legis- 
lative Body  (the  two  Councils)  outside  the  capital  to 
avoid  the  influence  of  the  multitude,  and  choose  a 
general  to  command  the  troops  to  defend  the  legislature. 

The  18th  Brumaire  (Nov.  9)  was  the  day  set  for 
this  Council  at  the  Tuileries  to  vote  to  change  the  i)lace 
of  meeting  to  St.  Cloud.  It  was  given  out  that  he  was 
to  take  a  journey,  so  his  officers  and  some  cavalry  were  to 
be  at  his  house  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  go  with 
him  to  the  Tuileries,  that  he  might  review  the  troops,  to 
be  gathered  there  at  seven. 

At  six  o'clock,  Lefebvre,  the  commander  of  the  mili- 
tary division,  had  arrived.  Napoleon  said  to  him,  "Here 
is  the  Turkish  sabre  which  I  carried  at  tlie  battle  of  the 
Pyramids.  Do  you,  who  are  one  of  the  most  valiant 
defenders  of  the  country,  accept  it  ?  Will  you  let  our 
country  perish  in  the  hands  of  the  pettifoggers  who 
are  ruining  it  ?  "     It  was  gladly  accepted. 

All  rode  to  the  Tuileries.  The  Ancients  voted  to 
meet  at  St.  Cloud  on  the  morrow,  and  gave  Napoleon  the 
command  of  the  troops. 

On  the  10th  I'rumaire  the  way  to  St.  Cloud  was 
crowded  with  troops  and  carriages.  All  was  excitement 
and  confusi(^n.  Napoleon's  friends  said,  "You  are  march- 
ing to  the  guillotine."  "  We  shall  see,"  was  his  cool 
reply.  When  Napoleon  arrived  at  St.  Cloud  he  entered 
the  hall  of  the  Coimcil  of  the  Ancients  and  made  a  brief 
address.     Then  he  went  to  the  Council  of  the  Five  Hun- 


86  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

dred.  It  was  five  in  the  afternoon.  At  the  sight  of 
him  they  shouted,  "  Down  with  the  Dictator !  Down 
with  the  tyrant !  "  They  brandislied  daggers  and  threat- 
ened liis  life.  His  soldiers  hastened  to  liis  aid ;  and  one 
grenadier,  Thome,  had  his  clothes  cut  by  a  dagger. 
Bourrienne  says  they  were  simply  torn.  Lucien  Bona- 
parte, the  president  of  the  Five  Hundred,  left  his  seat 
in  disgust  at  the  tumult.  He  called  upon  the  general 
and  the  soldiers  "  to  execute  the  vote  of  the  Ancients." 
The  drums  were  beaten,  the  soldiers  entered  the  hall, 
the  deputies  fled  in  every  direction,  and  the  old  govern- 
ment was  a  thing  of  the  i)ast.  Three  consuls  were 
elected,  of  whom  Nai)oleon  was  the  First  Consul.  He 
rode  home  at  three  in  the  morning.  At  thirty  he  had 
conquered  France  as  well  as  Italy. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  a  large  majority  of  the  people 
of  France  were  rejoiced  at  the  change  in  government. 
"Napoleon,"  says  Alison  in  his  History  of  Euro])e, 
"  rivalled  Caesar  in  the  clemency  with  which  he  used  his 
victory.  No  proscrij)ti()ns  or  massacres,  few  arrests  or 
imprisonments,  followed  the  triuni})!!  of  order  over  revo- 
lution. On  the  contrary,  numerous  acts  of  mercy,  as 
wise  as  they  were  magnanimous,  illustrated  the  rise  of 
the  consular  throne.  The  elevation  of  Napoleon  was  not 
only  luistained  by  blood,  but  not  even  a  single  captive 
long  lamented  the  car  of  the  victor." 

On  the  19th  of  February,  1800,  Napoleon  took  up  his 
residence  in  the  Tuileries.  His  salary  was  five  hundred 
thousand  francs  a  year.  Ten  days  l>efore  his  removal 
to  the  Tuileries,  Feb.  9,  when  the  seventy-two  flags 
taken  from  the  Turks  at  Aboukir  were  i)laced  in  the 
H6tel  des  Invalides,  a  funeral  oration  was  pronounced 
on  Washington,  who  had  died  Dec.  14,  1799.      Napo- 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  37 

leon  issued  this  order  to  his  army :  "  Washington  is 
dead !  That  great  man  fought  against  tyranny.  He 
established  the  liberty  of  his  country.  His  memory  will 
be  ever  dear  to  the  freemen  of  both  hemispheres,  and 
especially  to  the  French  soldiers,  who,  like  him  and  the 
American  troops,  have  fought  for  liberty  and  equality. 
As  a  mark  of  respect,  the  First  Consul  orders  that,  for 
ten  days,  black  crape  be  suspended  from  all  the  stand- 
ards and  banners  of  the  Republic." 

Feb.  20  he  received  a  letter  from  Louis  XVIII.,  in 
which  the  Bourbon  King  said,  "  Save  France  fi-om  her 
own  violence,  and  you  Avill  fulfil  the  first  wish  of  my 
heart.  Restore  her  king  to  her,  and  future  generations 
will  bless  your  memory."  But  Napoleon  knew  that  the 
French  did  not  want  the  House  of  Bourbon.  They  had 
put  Louis  XVI.  to  death,  and  still  celebrated  that 
anniversary. 

Napoleon  devoted  all  his  time  to  the  improvement  of 
the  state.  He  drew  around  him  the  ablest  persons. 
"The  men  whom  he  most  disliked,"  says  Bourrienne, 
"were  tliose  whom  he  called  babblers,  who  are  con- 
tinually prating  of  everything  and  on  everytliing."  He 
often  said,  "I  want  more  head  and  less  tongue." 

He  gave  France  a  new  constitution,  which  was  accepted 
by  the  votes  of  the  people  almost  unanimously,  over 
3,000,000  in  the  affirmative,  and  a  few  hundreds  in  the 
negative.  He  abolished  the  annual  festival  celebrating 
the  death  of  Louis  XVI.  He  oi)ened  the  prisons  wliere 
those  opposed  to  the  state  wore  confined;  hundreds  of 
exiles  returned  to  France.  Tlie  country  was  bankru])t; 
but  now  that  confidence  was  restored,  with  the  help  of 
the  best  financiers,  the  Bank  of  France  was  established, 
a  sinking   fund    provided,  judicious   taxation   adopted, 


38  NAPOLEON  BONAPAIiTE. 

and  an  era  of  prosperity  began.  Napoleon  built  canals, 
roads,  and  bridges,  and  splendid  monuments.  He  restored 
Sunday  as  a  day  of  rest,  which  had  been  set  aside  when 
the  Goddess  of  Keason  was  worshipped  during  the  Kevo- 
lution. 

A  little  later,  July  15,  1801,  —  by  the  Concordat, — he 
recognized  the  Jlonian  Catholic  religion  as  the  religion 
of  France.  He  said,  "  I  am  convinced  that  a  part  of 
France  would  become  Protestant,  were  I  to  favor  that 
disposition,  1  am  also  certain  that  the  much  greater 
portion  would  continue  Catholic,  and  that  they  would 
oppose,  with  the  greatest  zeal,  the  division  among  their 
fellow-citizens.  We  should  then  have  the  Huguenot 
wars  over  again,  and  interminable  conflicts.  But  by 
reviving  a  religion  which  has  always  prevailed  in  the 
country,  and  by  giving  perfect  liberty  of  conscience  to 
the  minority,  all  will  be  satisfied." 

He  did  not  like  numerous  festival  days.  "  A  saint's 
day,"  he  said,  "  is  a  day  of  idleness,  and  I  do  not  wish 
for  that.     People  must  labor  in  order  to  live." 

Kobody  labored  harder  than  Xa}X)leon.  He  kept 
several  secretaries  busy.  Writing  fatigued  him,  and  he 
wrote  so  Imrriedly  that  the  last  half  of  the  word  was 
usually  a  dash,  or  omitted.  He  could  go  without  sleep, 
snatching  a  few  minutes  in  his  chair,  or  in  his  saddle 
before  a  battle.  He  seldom  took  over  twenty  minutes 
for  dinner,  even  when  he  was  Emi»eror,  and  ro.se  from 
the  table  as  soon  as  he  liad  finished.  His  time  was  too 
precious  to  wait  long  for  others.  He  was  very  ]irom|)t, 
and  required  others  to  be  so. 

He  said,  *'  ()c('uj)ation  is  my  clement.  ...  I  have  seen 
the  extent  to  which  I  could  use  my  eyes,  but  I  have 
never  known  any  bounds  to  my  capacity  for  application." 


NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE.  39 

Lanfrey  says  lie  "  had  a  prodigious  i)ower  of  work," 
and  ''a  rapidity  of  conception  that  no  other  man  has 
probably  ever  possessed  to  the  same  extent."  He  used 
often  to  say,  "  Succeed  !  I  judge  men  only  by  results." 

Nobody  knew  better  the  value  of  time.  "  I  worked 
all  day,"  said  a  person  to  him,  in  apology  for  not  having 
completed  some  duty.  "But  had  you  not  the  night 
also  ?  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Ask  me  for  whatever  you  please  exce})t  tivie,'^  he  said 
to  another ;  "  that  is  the  only  thing  which  is  beyond  my 
power." 

While  taking  his  bath,  Bourrienne  read  to  him.  While 
being  shaved,  he  read,  or  somebody  read  to  him.  He  ate 
fast,  and  was  irregular  at  his  meals,  sometimes  passing  a 
whole  day  without  eating.  He  always  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  with  his  arms  folded  behind  him,  when 
dictating  to  his  secretaries.  "  He  was  exceedingly  tem- 
perate," says  Bourrienne,  "  and  averse  to  all  excess." 

"  The  institutions  of  modern  France  date  not,  as  is 
often  said,  from  tlie  Revolution,  but  from  the  Consulate," 
says  Professor  Seeley.  "  The  work  of  reconstruction 
which  distinguishes  the  Consulate,  though  it  was  contin- 
ued under  the  Empire,  is  the  most  enduring  of  all  the 
achievements  of  Napoleon." 

"  The  institutions  now  created,"  says  Seeley,  -'  and 
which  form  the  organization  of  modern  France,  are, 
1.  The.  Restored  Church,  resting  on  the  Concordat ;  2. 
the  University  ;  3.  the  judicial  system  ;  4.  the  Codes  : 
Code  Civil,  called  Coda  Napoleon  Sept.  3,  1807,  Code  de 
Coi/inirrre,  Code  Pemtl,  Code  d^  fiisfrucfiou  Crimiiie/le ; 
5.  the  system  of  local  government ;  (5.  the  IJank  of 
France ;  7.  the  Legion  of  Honor." 

"  My  code  will  outlive  my  victories,"  said  Nai)oleon, 


40  NAPOLEON  BONAPAliTE. 

truly.  He  put  the  best  miuds  of  France  upon  the  codi- 
tication  ami  improvement  of  her  laws,  and  he  carefully 
watched  every  detail. 

"Bourrienne,"  Napoleon  used  to  say,  "it  is  for  France 
I  am  doing  all  this !  All  I  wish,  all  I  desire,  the  end  of 
all  my  labors,  is,  that  my  name  should  be  indissolubly 
connected  with  that  of  France  !  " 

Now  that  France  was  ijrosjx'rous  and  settled,  Napoleon 
wrote  to  George  III.,  King  of  England,  proposing  peace. 
Lord  Grenville,  for  his  nation,  wliich  had  grown  more 
confident  since  the  battle  of  the  Nile  and  the  successes 
in  Egypt,  declined  to  treat  with  the  Consular  Government 
of  France.  Canning  spoke  of  this  "  new  usurper,  who, 
like  a  sjjectre,  wears  on  his  head  a  something  tliat  has  a 
])]iantom  resemblance  to  a  crown."  Who  would  have 
propliesied  then  that  young  Napoleon  IV.  would  have 
died  lighting  the  battles  of  England  in  Zvduland  ? 

He  i)r(iposed  peace  to  Austria,  but  she  decided  like  her 
ally,  England.  Napoleon  said  bitterly,  "  England  wants 
war.     She  shall  have  it.     Yes  !  yes  !  war  to  the  death." 

He  immediately  sent  General  Moreau  with  one  hun- 
dred and  tliirty  thousand  men  against  the  Austrian 
army  on  the  llliine,  and  took  forty  thousand  himself  to 
Italy,  crossing  the  Alps  over  tin;  Great  St.  Bernard.  Tlie 
carriages  and  wheels  wen^  slung  on  poles;  the  ammunition 
lM)xes  were  borne  on  mules ;  the  cannon  were  carried  in 
trees  hollowed  out,  eacli  dragged  uj)  the  heights  by  a 
hundred  men;  the  soldiers  crept  up  the  icy  steeps  each 
with  sixty  or  seventy  i)ounds  ni)on  his  back.  At  the 
well-known  Hosjiic-c  kejit  by  tlie  monks,  Nai)oleon  had 
sent  forward  supplies  for  his  men,  who,  cold  and  ex- 
hausted, were  overjoyed  at  the  repast. 

The   story  is   told    that    the    young   guide   who   led 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  41 

Napoleon's  mule  over  the  Alps  confided  to  the  sym- 
pathetic stranger  his  poverty,  his  desire  to  marry  the  girl 
of  his  choice,  and  his  inability  to  provide  her  a  home. 
The  small  man  in  a  gray  overcoat  gave  him  a  note  to  the 
head  of  the  convent.  To  his  astonishment,  it  provided 
him  with  a  house  and  a  piece  of  ground. 

The  army  then  swept  down  \ipon  Italy.  The  First 
Consul  entered  Milan  June  2 ;  Lannes  was  victorious  at 
Montebello  June  9,  and  on  the  morning  of  June  14  forty 
thousand  Austrians  were  opposed  to  a  much  smaller 
number  of  French  on  the  plain  of  Marengo.  The  battle 
was  hotly  contested  for  twelve  hours.  At  first  the 
Austrians  seemed  victorious,  till  Desaix,  who  liad  just 
come  back  from  Egypt,  rushed  upon  the  field  with  his 
reserves.  He  was  shot  dead,  but  his  columns  were  soon 
avenged. 

Six  thousand  Austrians  threw  down  their  arms,  a 
panic  spread  through  their  troops,  the  cavalry  plunged 
over  the  infantry  to  be  first  in  crossing  the  l^ormida,  and 
tliousands  jierished  in  the  dreadful  confusion.  ^larengo 
is  regarded  by  numy  as  Napoleon's  most  masterful  battle. 

Desaix's  death  was  a  sad  blow  to  Napoleon.  Savary 
found  his  body  stripped  of  clothing,  wrapped  it  in  a 
cloak,  laid  it  across  a  liorse,  and  Napoleon  had  it  carried 
to  Milan  to  be  embalmed.  He  said,  "  Victory  at  such  a 
price  is  dear."  Kleber  was  killed  in  Egypt  on  the  same 
day.  At  St.  Helena,  Napoleon  said,  "Of  all  tlie  generals 
I  ever  had  under  niv  command,  Desaix  and  Klober  pos- 
sessed the  greatest  talent  —  in  particular  Desaix.  .  .  . 
Kleber  and  Desaix  were  irreparable  losses  to  France." 

Napoleon  returned  to  Milan  and  went  in  state  to  the 
Cathedral  to  the  Te  Deum,  four  days  after  the  battle  of 
Marengo.     The  people  everywhere  gave  him  an  ovation. 


42  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

"  Bourrienne,"  he  said,  *'  do  you  hear  tlie  acclamations 
still  resounding  ?  That  noise  is  as  sweet  to  nie  as  the 
sound  of  Josephine's  voice."  Napoleon  reached  Paris 
late  in  June.  1 

Dec.  3  of  this  same  year,  1800,  ^loreau  fought  tlie' 
famous  battle  of  Hohenlinden,  in  tlie  black  forests  of 
Germany,  at  midnight.  In  the  blinding  snowstorm  both 
armies  got  entangled  in  tlie  forests.  The  Austrians  left 
ten  thousand  in  dead  and  wounded  on  the  field,  with 
seven  thousand  prisoners.  The  poem  of  Campbell  is 
well  known :  — 

"  On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser  rolling  rapidly." 

Finally  a  treaty  of  ])eace  between  France  and  Austria 
was  signed  at  Luneville,  Feb.  9,  1801,  followed  March 
27,  1802,  by  the  treaty  of  Amiens,  between  France  and 
England. 

r>oth  countries  rejoiced  in  the  cessation  of  hostilities. 
Fox  came  over  from  England  and  was  received  with 
great  cordiality.  Nai)oleon  said,  "  I  considered  him  an 
ornament  to  maidiind,  and  was  very  much  attached  to 
him." 

Four  months  later,  Aug.  4,  1802,  by  an  overwhelming 
majority  of  the  votes  of  the  jjcople,  over  three  and  a  half 
millions  in  favor  to  about  eight  thousand  against  it. 
Napoleon  was  decdared  Consul  for  life.  La  Fayette 
could  not  conscientiously  favor  it,  unless  liberty  of  the 
I)ress  were  guaranteed.  He  said  to  Napoleon,  "  A  free 
government,  and  you  at  its  head  —  that  comprehends  all 
my  desires." 

Napoleon  said,  "He  thiidcs  he  is  still  in  the  United 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  43 

States  —  as  if  the  French  were  Americans.  He  has  no 
conception  of  what  is  required  for  this  country."  Napo- 
leon felt,  no  doubt  sincerely,  tliat  France  was  more  stable 
under  an  Emperor  than  a  President.  And  yet  since  the 
fall  of  Napoleon  III.  France  has  shown  tliat  she  can  live 
and  prosper  as  a  republic. 

All  through  tliese  years  the  Koyalists  were  plotting  to 
return  to  the  throne ;  for  when  did  ever  a  king  reign  who 
did  not  tliink  it  was  by  "  Divine  right"  ? 

Louis  XVIII.  wrote  anotlier  letter  to  Naix)leon  :  "  You 
must  have  long  since  been  convinced,  General,  that  you 
possess  my  esteem.  .  .  .  AVe  may  insure  the  glory  of 
France.  I  say  we,  because  I  recjuire  the  aid  of  IJonaparte, 
and  he  can  do  nothing  without  me.  General,  Europe 
observes  you;  glory  awaits  you;  I  am  impatient  to 
restore  ])eace  to  my  peo})le."  In  answer  to  tliis  letter, 
Napeleon  wrote,  "  You  must  not  seek  to  return  to  France. 
To  do  so,  you  must  trample  over  a  hundred  thousand 
dead  bodies." 

Several  attempts  were  made  to  assassinate  Napoleon. 
I'ossibly  some  of  these  were  tlie  work  of  Jacobins,  who 
feared  that  the  republic  was  slipping  into  an  em])ire; 
but  they  were  for  the  most  j)art  tract'd  to  Royalists,  tlie 
leaders  of  wliom  lived  in  England,  and  were  receiving 
yearly  pensions,  because  they  had  aided  her  in  former 
wars. 

On  the  evening  of  Dec.  24,  ISOO,  as  Najwleon  was 
going  to  tin;  opera,  to  hear  Haydn's  Oratorio  of  ''The 
Creation,"  lie  was  obligecM.o  ))ass  through  tlie  Kue  Saint- 
Nicaise,  when;  an  ui)tunied  eart  covered  a  barrel  of 
gun])owder,  grape-shot,  and  pieces  of  iron.  Tlie  "  in- 
fernal machine "  exploded  two  seconds  after  he  had 
passed  in  his  carriage.     The  carriage  was  uplifted  from 


44  .      NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

the  ground,  four  ])ers()ns  Avere  killed,  sixty  wounded,  of 
whom  several  died,  and  forty-six  houses  were  badly  dam- 
aged. One  of  the  horses  of  Napoleon's  escort  was 
wounded. 

Other  plans  were  soon  discovered,  concocted  by  Georges 
Cadoudal,  General  I'ichegru,  and  others,  all  in  the  confi- 
dence of  the  Conite  d'Artois,  afterwards  Charles  X.,  the 
brother  of  Louis  XVIII.     He  lived  in  or  near  London. 

Cadoudal,  or  CJcorges  as  lie  is  usually  called,  was  to 
meet  Xapoleon  in  the  streets,  and,  with  a  band  of  thirty 
or  forty  f.)ll()wers,  kill  him  and  his  staff.  AVhen  all  was 
ready,  Ihe  liourbon  princes  were  to  be  near  at  hand  to 
head  the  revolt  of  the  i)e()i)le.  Georges  was  arrested 
and  executed  with  eleven  of  his  companions. 

The  Duke  d'Enghien,  Louis  Antoine,  Henri  de  Bourbon, 
son  of  the  Duke  of  J>ourbon,  and  a  descendant  of  the 
great  Condc  who  had  done  so  much  for  France  in  her 
wars,  was  living  at  Ettenheim,  under  the  ])rotection  of 
the  ^largrave  of  l>aden,  to  be  near  the  lady  Avhom  he 
loved,  tlie  Princess  ('liarlotte  de  Kohan,  and  "to  \vd 
ready,"  says  Walter  Scott,  "to  ])ut  liinisclf  at  the  head 
of  tlie  royalists  in  the  east  of  France,"  if  ojtportunity 
offered. 

It  was  rei)()rtt'd  to  Najjoleon  that  the  duke  came  over 
into  France  probably  on  political  errands,  and  tiiat  he 
was  corresiKjnding  with  disaffected  persons  in  France. 

Najxdeon  sent  some  officers  to  seize  the  duke  on  the 
niglit  of  ^March  la,  1<S()4;  he  was  carried  to  .Strasburg, 
and  thence  to  tlie  Castle  of  \'incennes,  near  Paris,  arriving 
on  the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  March  20.  He  w;is  aroused 
from  sleep  a  little  before  six  on  the  morning  of  the  21st, 
and  innocently  asked  if  he  were  to  be  imprisoned.  He 
was  conducted  outside  the  castle;  by  the  light  of  a  lantern 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  45 

his  sentence  was  read  to  liini.  He  denied  any  complicity 
in  the  conspiracy  against  the  life  of  the  First  Consnl, 
,  which  was  doubtless  true  ;  requested  to  see  Napoleon, 
which  was  refused ;  asked  an  officer  to  take  a  ring,  a 
lock  of  hair,  and  a  letter  to  his  beloved,  and  was  shot  at 
six  in  the  morning,  by  his  open  grave,  his  devoted  dog 
by  his  side.  Bourrienne  says,  "  This  faithful  animal 
returned  incessantly  to  the  fatal  spot.  .  .  .  The  fidelity 
of  the  poor  dog  excited  so  much  interest  that  the  police 
prevented  any  one  from  visiting  the  fatal  spot,  and  the 
dog  was  no  longer  heard  to  howl  over  his  master's  grave." 

Josephine  had  heard  of  Napoleon's  intention  to  send 
terror  among  the  l^ourbon  conspirators,  and  had  begged 
him,  on  her  knees  and  with  tears,  to  save  the  life  of  the 
young  prince.  It  would  have  been  well  for  him  had  he 
listened  to  her  entreaties. 

France,  and  Europe  as  well,  were  shocked  at  this 
death.  The  Russian  court  Avent  into  mourning  for  the 
Bourbon  prince.  No  doubt  Napoleon  was  incensed  by 
the  liourbon  i)lots,  and  after  this  deatli  these  ceased ; 
but  Las  Cases,  at  kSt.  Helena,  said  Napoleon  always 
regretted  it,  saying,  "  Undoubtedly,  if  I  had  been  in- 
formed in  time  of  certain  circumstances  res|)ecting  the 
opinions  of  the  ju-ince,  and  his  disjiosition,  if,  above  all, 
I  had  seen  the  letter  which  he  wrote  to  me,  aijd  whicli, 
God  knows  for  what  reason,  was  only  delivered  to  me 
after  his  death,  I  should  certaiidy  have  forgiven  him." 

Napoleon  has  been  blamed  for  another  matter,  —  the 
taking  of  Saint  Domingo,  and  the  imprisonment  of  Tous- 
saint  L'Ouverture.  This  remarkable  colored  man,  who 
had  been  a  slave,  had  ac([uin'd  the  control  of  the  island 
by  driving  the  French  and  Spanish  troops  out,  and 
making  it  a  republic,  with  a  nominal  dependence  iqKjn 


46  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

France.  Napoleon,  with  a  desire  unfortunately  shown 
and  carried  out  by  other  nations,  wished  to  enlarge  his 
colonics  and  also  to  settle  some  dissensions  in  the  island, 
and  sent  Dec.  14, 1801,  General  Leclerc,  who  had  married 
his  i)n'tty  sister  Pauline,  with  25,000  men  to  Saint  Do- 
mingo to  re-establish  French  sovereignty.  He  was  to 
send  back  to  Fmnce  any  who  rebelled.  Toussaint  L'Ou- 
verture,  who  was  among  them,  was  imprisoned  in  the 
fortress  of  Joux,  near  ]k'san5on,  in  Normandy,  and  died 
in  ten  months,  away  from  his  own  people,  the  victim  of 
the  spirit  of  conquest,  Avhich  is  not  dead  even  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  The  climate  destroyed  the  French 
army.  Only  two  or  three  thousand  ever  returned.  Gen- 
eral Leclerc  died,  like  the  rest,  of  yellow  fever. 

Napoleon  said  at  St.  Helena,  *' I  ought  to  have  been 
satisfied  with  governing  it  [Saint  Domingo]  through  the 
medium  of  Toussaint.  .  .  .  Tlie  design  of  reducing  it 
by  force  was  a  great  error." 

Only  a  year  after  the  treaty  of  Amiens  was  concluded, 
it  became  evident  tliat  it  wcjuld  not  last.  It  was  said 
that  Napoleon's  })ower  was  becoming  too  great  for  the 
security  of  Europe.  England  had  determined  not  to 
give  up  Malta  to  the  Kniglits  as  slie  had  promised. 
llndjM-  I'itt's  guidance  slie  was  arming  and  making  her- 
self reaily  lor  a  grciit  ('onil)at.  'I'he  loyalists  were  using 
their  jx-ns  in  their  lOnglish  honu's,  to  abuse  the  head  of 
the  Freneli  nation,  lield  there  by  tlie  votes  of  the  French 
peo])le.  It  was,  of  course,  exas])erating,  and  tended  to 
produce  revolt.  Najioleon  called  attention  to  the  terms 
of  the  treaty,  which  stipulat.'d  that  neither  of  the  two 
nations  should  give  a/ii/  j,n>frrfl<)u  to  those  who  Avere 
injuring  the  other.  (Commercial  tariffs  bred  dislike. 
English  ])ride  was  stirred  because  Najjoleon  said,  "  Eng- 
land, single-handed,  is  unable  to  cope  with  France." 


NAPOLEON  BONAFAliTE.  47 

Finally  in  May,  1803,  the  war  began.  Alison  says,  and 
Scott  agrees  with  him,  ''  Upon  coolly  reviewing  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  the  contest  was  renewed,  it  is 
impossible  to  deny  that  the  British  government  mani- 
fested a  feverish  desire  to  come  to  a  rupture,  and  that, 
as  far  as  the  transactions  between  the  two  countries  are 
concerned,  tliey  are  the  aggresst)rs." 

Napoleon  was  determined  to  invade  England,  —  lUmr- 
rienne  thinks  it  was  only  a  feint,  and  that  his  real  motive 
"  was  to  invade  Germany  and  repulse  the  Russian  troops," 
—  and  he  gathered  an  army  of  150,000  in  and  around 
Boulogne,  and  an  immense  ilotilla  which  should  be  able 
to  trans])ort  these  men  ten  leagues  across  tlie  channel  to 
the  English  coast. 

While  those  preparations  were  going  on,  the  Frencli 
Senate,  undoubtedly  in  accord  with  the  views  of  tlie 
First  Consul,  suggested  j)ublicly  the  idea  of  an  empire 
over  which  Napoleon  should  be  the  hereditary  ruler. 
The  people  were  tired  of  Bourbon  plottings,  and,  if 
Napoleon  were  killed,  the  scenes  of  the  Kevolution  might 
again  be  witnessed  in  the  streets  of  Paris.  Napoleon 
was  declared  Emperor  of  the  l^'rench,  May  1(S,  1804,  and 
])ul)li('ly  crowned  by  ]*ope  Bins  VII.,  at  Notre  Dame, 
Dec.  2  of  the  same  year. 

Baris  was  thronged  Avitli  peo})le  on  the  day  of  the 
coronation.  At  lialf-past  ten  in  the  morning  Napoleon 
and  Josephine  drove  to  the  cathedral  in  a  carriage 
largely  of  glass,  surmounted  by  a  golden  crown  upheld 
by  four  eagles  with  outstretched  wings,  drawn  by  eight 
sup(>rb  liorses.  Twenty  scpiadrons  of  cavalry  led  the 
])rocession,  Mai-shal  Murat  at  the  head.  Kightcen  car- 
riages, each  drawn  by  six  horses,  follow(Ml. 

Napoleon  wore  a  coat  of  crimson  velvet  faced  with 


48  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

white  velvet,  white  velvet  boots,  a  short  cloak  of  crimson 
lined  with  white  satin,  and  a  black  velvet  cap  with  two 
aigrettes  and  several  diamonds. 

At  the  Archbishop's  Palace,  Napoleon  pnt  on  his  coro- 
nation robes.  These  were  a  tight-fitting  gown  of  white 
satin,  a  crimson  mantle  covered  with  golden  bees,  having 
an  embroidered  border  with  the  letter  N,  and  a  crown 
above  each  letter,  the  lining  and  cape  of  ermine,  the 
whole  weighing  eighty  ponnds,  and  held  np  by  font 
persons.  His  crown  was  of  golden  laurel ;  his  sword  at 
his  left  side  was  in  a  scabbard  of  blue  enamel,  covered 
with  eagles  and  bees. 

Josephine  wore  a  white  satin  gown,  Avith  a  train  of 
silver  brocade  covered  with  bees,  a  girdle  of  very  ex- 
pensive diamonds,  necklace,  bracelets,  and  earrings  of 
precious  stones  and  anticpie  cameos,  and  a  diadem  of 
four  rows  of  pearls  witli  clnsters  of  diamoTuls.  The 
Emperor  was  mucli  struck  with  Josephine's  beauty,  and 
said  to  his  brother  Josepli,  "  If  father  could  see  us  !  " 

As  Napoleon  entered  the  cathedral,  which  was  drajjcd 
in  crimson  and  gold,  twent}'  thousand  spectators  shouted, 
"  Long  live  tlie  Emperor  !  " 

The  Em])eror  and  Em})ress  knelt  on  blue  velvet 
cushions  before  the  Pope,  who  anointed  Napoleon  on 
the  head  and  hands,  and  the  Empress  in  the  same  way. 
Then  high  mass  l)egan  with  three  hundred  i)erformers. 
When  the  moment  came  for  the  I'ope  to  crown  the  Em- 
peror, Napoleon  took  the  crown  from  his  hands  and 
placed  it  upon  his  own  he.ad,  and  tlien  crowned  Jose- 
phine. Her  crown  was  formed  of  eiglit  l)ran('lies  set  in 
diamonds,  emeralds,  and  amethysts,  under  a  gold  globe 
surmounted  by  a  cross.  Then  tliey  proceeded  to  the 
great  throne  reached  by  twenty-four  steps,  Josephine 


r 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  49 

sitting  one  step  lower  than  her  husband.  France  had 
placed  her  all  in  the  hands  of  one  man ;  and  Lanfrey 
justly  remarks,  "  A  nation  that  carries  love  of  ease  so 
far  as  to  thrust  the  whole  burden  of  duties  and  responsi- 
bility on  a  single  man  is  always  punished  for  it." 

After  the  gorgeous  ceremony  was  oVer,  Napoleon  and 
the  Empress  dined  alone,  and  were  happy.  He  said  to 
David,  who  had  painted  the  coronation  scene  at  the 
moment  when  Napoleon  was  placing  the  crown  upon  tlie 
head  of  the  lovely  Josephine,  "I  thank  you  for  trans- 
mitting to  ages  to  come  the  proof  of  affection  I  wanted 
to  give  to  her  who  shares  with  me  the  pains  of  govern- 
ment." Then  he  raised  his  hat  to  the  artist,  and  said, 
"  David,  I  salute  you."  Joseplune  had  opposed  Napo- 
leon's becoming  Emperor,  because  it  meant  hereditary 
succession,  and  slie  had  no  cliild  by  Napoleon.  His 
brothers  had  for  some  years  urged  a  divorce,  so  that 
Josephine's  life  had  been  one  of  much  sorrow. 

Napoleon  had  said  to  Bourrienne,  "  It  is  the  torment 
of  my  life  not  to  liave  a  child.  I  j)lainly  perceive  that- 
my  j)Ower  will  never  be  firmly  established  until  I  have 
one.  If  I  die  without  an  heir,  not  one  of  my  brothers 
is  capable  of  supi)lying  my  jthice.  All  is  begun,  but 
notliing  is  ended.     (Jod  knows  what  will  happen  ! " 

Josephine  had  urged  her  young  daughter  Ilortense 
into  a  marriage^  with  Louis,  tlie  brother  of  Napoleon, 
Jan.  2,  1S02,  with  the  hope  that  their  child  might  be  the 
heir  to  the  empire.  Each  loved  another  person  before 
marriage,  and  their  married  life  was  one  of  constant 
misery. 

Their  first  child,  Cliarles  Napoleon,  born  Oct.  10,  1S02. 
whom  Na]ioleon  would  liave  adopted,  a  beautiful  nnd 
most  intelligent  boy,  died  when  he  was  four  years  and  a 


60  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

half  old,  of  croup,  May  5,  1807.  "  Sometimes  when  his 
parents  were  quarrelling,"  says  Saint-Amand,  "  he  suc- 
ceeded in  reconciling  tlieni.  He  used  to  take  his  father 
by  the  hand,  who  gladly  let  himself  be  led  by  this  little 
angel,  and  then  he  would  say  in  a  caressing  tone :  *  Kiss 
her,  pai)a,  I  beg  of  you ; '  then  he  was  i)erfectly  happy 
when  his  father  and  mother  exclianged  a  kiss  of  peace." 

Hortense,  the  mother,  was  so  prostrated  with  grief, 
that  it  was  feared  she  would  lose  her  reason.  Madame 
de  Kemusat  says  of  her,  *'  The  Queen  has  but  one 
thought,  the  loss  she  has  suffered ;  she  speaks  of  only 
one  thing,  of  him.  Not  a  tear,  but  a  cold,  calm,  and 
almost  absolute  silence  about  everything,  and  when  she 
s}>eaks  she  wrings  every  one's  heart.  If  she  sees  any 
one  whom  she  lias  ever  seen  with  her  son,  slie  looks  at 
him  with  kindliness  and  interest,  and  says,  '  You  know 
he  is  dead.'  When  slie  first  saw  her  mother,  she  said  to 
her,  '  It's  not  long  since  he  was  here  with  me.  I  held 
him  on  my  knees  thus.'  .  .  ,  She  heard  ten  o'clock 
strike ;  slie  turned  to  one  of  the  ladies  and  said,  *  You 
kiujw  it  was  at  ten  that  he  died.'  That  is  the  only  way 
slie  breaks  her  almost  continual  silence." 

Josephine  was  doubly  eruslied  by  the  blow.  She  saw 
her  liojtes  for  the  future  blighted.  The  Emperor  wrote 
to  her  from  the  seat  of  war;  '•  I  can  well  imagine  the 
grief  which  Nai)oleon's  death  must  cause.  You  can 
understand  what  I  suffer.  T  should  like  to  be  with  you, 
that  you  might  be  moderate  and  discreet  in  your  grief. 
.  .  .  Let  me  hear  that  you  are  calm  and  well !  Do  you 
want  to  add  to  my  rcgrot  ?     Goo<l-by.  my  dear." 

Napolt'on  was  not  cold-hearted,  but  believed  that  only 
those  accomplish  much  in  life  who  have  self-control. 
Two  of  his  soldiers  having  committed  suicide  on  account 


NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.  51 

of  love  affairs,  Napoleon  caused  it  to  be  inserted  in  the 
order-book  of  the  guard,  that  "there  is  as  much  true 
courage  in  bearing  up  against  mental  sufferings  with 
constancy  as  in*  remaining  hrni  on  the  wall  of  a 
battery." 

Nearly  six  months  after  the  crowning  in  Notre  ])ame, 
the  Emperor  was  crowned  King  of  Italy  in  the  cathedral 
of  Milan,  May  2G,  1805,  with  the  iron  crown  of  Charle- 
magne. This  crown  of  gold  and  precious  stones  covers 
an  iron  ring  said  to  have  been  made  from  a  spike  which 
pierced  the  Saviour's  hand  at  the  crucihxion.  Napoleon 
and  the  Empress  were  both  gorgeously  arrayed.  He 
placed  the  crown  upon  his  own  head,  repeating  the  words 
used  in  ancient  times  :  "  God  lias  given  it  to  me  —  woe 
to  him  that  touches  it." 

Everywliere  Napoleon  and  Jose])hine  were  adored  by 
the  people.  Tliey  went  into  the  cabin  of  a  jioor  woman, 
who  was  anxious  and  needy  because  her  husband  could 
not  get  work.  "  How  much  money  would  make  you  per- 
fectly happy  ? "  asked  Napoleon.  "  Ah,  sir,  a  great 
deal !     As  nuich  as  eighty  dollars." 

The  Emperor  gave  her  several  hundreds,  and  told  her 
to  rent  a  piece  of  ground  and  buy  some  goats. 

"Josephine,"  says  Saint-Aniand,  "  IkuI  all  the  (juali- 
ties  that  are  attractive  in  a  sovereign,  —  affability,  gentle- 
ness, kindliness,  genei-osity.  She  had  a  way  of  convincing 
every  one  of  her  ])ersonal  interest.  She  liad  an  excellent 
memory,  and  surprised  those  with  whom  she  talked  by 
the  exactness  with  which  she  recalled  the  past,  even  to 
details  tliey  had  tliemselves  n(\n,rly  forgotten.  The  sound 
of  lier  gentle,  penetrating,  and  sYini)athetic  voice  added 
to  the  courtesy  and  charm  of  her  words.  Every  one 
listened  to  her  with  pleasure ;  she  spoke  with  grace  and 


52  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

listened  courteously.  Slie  always  appeared  to  be  doing 
a  kiiubu'ss,  and  thus  inspirtnl  affection  and  gratitude." 

"  Her  only  fault/'  says  Saint-Amaud,  "  was  extrava- 
gance." But  it  must  be  remembered  that  Napoleon 
■wislunl  her  to  dress  elegantly.  It  seemed  as  though 
everybody  came  to  ask  her  to  buy,  and  she  Vx)ught,  says 
Saint-Amand,  "  sim[)ly  to  oblige  th(^  dealers.  There 
was  no  limit  to  her  liberality.  She  wouhl  have  liked  to 
own  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth  in  order  to  give  them 
all  away."  .  .  .  Napoleon,  economical  by  nature,  scolded 
and  forgave.  "He  could  refuse  Josephine  nothing," 
says  the  same  writer,  ''  and  she  was  really  the  only 
woman  who  had  any  influence  over  him." 

Napoleon  made  .Ios(^'phine's  son,  Eugene,  Viceroy  of 
Italy,  —  he  often  said, '' Eugene  may  .serve  as  a  model 
to  all  the  young  men  of  the  age,"  —  returned  to  Paris, 
and  then  started  for  liis  troops  at  Boulogne.  There  he 
waited  for  some  days  for  his  Heet  under  Villeneuve,  who, 
having  been  watched  by  the  Englisli,  and  in  part  crip- 
])led  by  them,  failed  to  appear.  He  dared  not  proceed  to 
Brest,  which  the  English  blockaded,  and  so  repaired  to 
Cadi/,,  to  1)(!  cruslied  soon  after  by  that  Napoleon  of  the 
sea,  Horatio  Nelson,  at  the  battle  of  Trafalgar.  Ville- 
neuve afterwards  committed  suicide,  stabbing  himself  to 
the  heart.  He  left  a  letter  for  his  wife  in  which  he 
said,  "  What  a  blessing  that  T  have  no  children  to  reap 
my  horrible  heritages  and  bear  the  weight  of  my  name  !  " 

Meantime,  IJussia.  Austria,  and  Sweden  had  joined 
themselves  to  England  to  defeat  Napoleon.  The  P^m- 
peror,  with  that  (piickness  of  decision  and  rapidity  of 
execution  for  which  he  was  plienomenal,  managed  to 
separate  th<^  armies  of  his  foes,  and  beat  them  in  turn. 
At  Ulm,  Oct.  20,  1S05,  over  thirty  thousand  Austrians 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  53 

under  General  Mack,  led  by  sixteen  generals,  surrendered, 
laid  down  tlieir  arms,  and  retired  to  the  rear  of  the 
French  army.  More  than  twenty  thousand  Austrians 
had  been  taken  prisoners  in  the  few  days  preceding,  and 
the  Austrian  army  of  eiglity  thousand  was  well-nigh 
destroyed. 

Napoleon  wrote  to  Josephine  Oct.  21 :  ''I  am  very 
well,  my  dear.  I  have  made  an  army  of  thirty-three 
thousand  men  surrender.  I  have  taken  from  sixty  to 
seventy  thousand  prisoners,  more  than  ninety  flags,  and 
more  than  two  liundred  cannon.  In  tlie  military  annals 
tliere  is  no  such  defeat." 

Napoleon  jmshed  on  to  Vienna,  wliicli  he  entered 
Nov.  14,  and  went  to  the  palace  of  Schonbrunn.  The 
Emperor  Francis  had  fled,  and  joined  the  Tsar  and  the 
Russian  army  at  Brunn.  Thither  Napoleon  marched  at 
once.  On  the  niglit  of  Dec.  1,  1805,  he  mounted  his 
horse  to  reconnoitre  the  enemy's  lines.  As  he  returned, 
going  on  foot  from  on(;  watch-Hre  to  anotlier,  he  fell  to 
the  ground  over  the  stump  of  a  tree.  A  grenadier  lighted 
a  torcli  of  straw,  then  the  wliole  line  did  tlie  same  and 
cheered  the  Emperor.  Tliey  remembered  that  the  next 
day,  Dec.  2,  was  the  anniversary  of  the  coronation.  The 
Russians  tlumglit  tlie  French  were  retreating.  Then 
all  slept  for  a  few  hours,  and  awoke  to  the  battle  of 
Austerlitz. 

At  daybreak  there  was  a  heavy  mist,  then  the  sun 
shone  out  full  and  clear,  and  the  French  believed  tliey 
would  win  a  glorious  victory.  They  were  not  dis- 
appointed. During  tlie  terribh^  conflict  the  Russians 
and  Austrians  lost  over  thirty  thousand  in  killed  and 
wounded,  treble  the  number  of  the  French.  The  enemy 
fled  across  the  lakes,  the  ice  of  which  being  broken  by 


54  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

the  French  batteries,  tliousands  were  ingulfed.  Their 
cries  and  groans,  says  Lanfrey,  were  heard  on  the 
following  day. 

Napoleon  said,  "  I  have  fought  thirty  battles  like  that, 
but  I  have  never  seen  so  decisive  a  victory,  or  one  where 
the  chances  were  so  unevenly  balanced."  The  liussian 
and  Austrian  forces  greatly  outnumbered  the  French. 
To  his  soldiers  Napoleon  said,  "  I  am  satisfied  Avith  you  ; 
you  have  covered  your  eagles  with  undying  glory." 

To  Josephine  he  wrote  :  "  The  battle  of  Austerlitz  is 
the  greatest  I  liave  won  ;  forty -five  flags,  more  than  one 
hundred  and  fifty  cannon,  the  standards  of  the  Russian 
guards,  twenty  generals,  more  than  twenty  thousand 
killed,  —  a  horrid  sight!  The  Emperor  Alexander  is  in 
despair,  and  is  leaving  for  Russia.  Yesterday  1  saw  the 
Emperor  of  Germany  in  my  bivouac  ;  we  talked  for  two 
hours,  and  agreed  on  a  speedy  peace.  ...  I  shall  see 
with  ])leasure  the  tinu^  that  will  restore  me  to  you." 

The  defeat  of  the  allies  at  Austerlitz  hastened  the 
death  of  William  Pitt  of  England,  lie  looked  long  on 
the  map  of  Eurui)e,  and  said,  *'  Henceforth  we  may  clo.se 
that  ma})  for  half  a  century."     He  died  Jan.  23,  ISOO.    • 

On  Napoleon's  return  to  l*aris  he  erected  a  column 
in  the  Place  Vendome  to  the  Grand  Army.  It  was 
constructed  of  cannon  taken  from  the  enemy,  and  has 
illustrations  upon  it  of  the  campaigns  of  Ulm  and  Aus- 
terlitz. W.  O'Ccmnor  Morris  calls  Austerlitz  'Hhe  most 
perfect  of  battles  on  land,  as  the  Nile  was  the  most  per- 
fect on  sea."  Seeley  thinks,  in  its  historical  results. 
Austerlitz  "  ranks  among  the  great  events  of  the  world." 

The  peace  of  Pressburg  was  effected  between  France 
and  Austria,  Dec.  2fi,  1805.  Charles  James  Fox,  wlio 
had  succeeded  Pitt  in  England,  was  favorable  to  i)eace 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  55 

between  the  nations,  but  the  war  party  in  England  was 
strong.     Fox  soon  died,  and  the  peace  negotiations  failed. 

Napoleon  said  at  St.  Helena,  "  The  death  of  Fox  was 
one  of  the  fatalities  of  iny  career.  Had  his  life  been 
prolonged,  affairs  would  have  taken  a  totally  dilferent 
turn.  The  cause  of  the  people  would  have  triumphed, 
and  we  should  have  established  a  new  order  of  things  in 
Euroi)e." 

Meantime  Napoleon  had  placed  his  brother  Joseph  on 
the  throne  of  Naples,  Louis  on  the  throne  of  Holland, 
and  had  formed  a  Confederation  of  the  lihine  out  of 
several  states  in  the  valley  of  the  lihine,  which  had 
fourteen  million  people.  Napoleon  was  elected  Protector 
of  the  Confederation. 

Kussia  now  became  an  ally  of  Prussia,  and  war  was 
declared  against  France  Oct.  14,  1800.  The  double 
battle  of  Jena  and  Auerstadt  was  fought,  and  the 
Prussians  were  completely  defeated,  Alison  says,  "  Tlie 
loss  of  tlie  Prussians  was  prodigious ;  «n  the  two  fields 
there  fell  nearly  twenty  thousand  killed  and  wounded, 
besides  nearly  as  many  prisoners.  .  .  .  Ten  thousand  of 
the  killed  and  wounded  fell  at  Auerstadt." 

Napoleon  entered  Berlin  in  ti-iumph  Oct.  27,  180G,  and 
established  himself  in  the  king's  palace.  He  did  not 
like  the  beautiful  (Jueen  Louise,  because  he  felt  that  slie 
had  inspired  the  soldiers  by  her  presence,  and  urged  her 
liusband  to  make  war.  He  was  unjust  to  her  in  his 
l)ulletins,  and  Josephine  reproaclied  him  for  "  speaking 
ill  of  women." 

Napoleon  visited  the  ])alace  of  Sans  Souci  to  see  the 
room  where  Frederick  tlie  Great  died,  still  i)reserved  as 
he  left  it,  and  then  went  to  tlie  church  Aviiere  lie  is 
buried.     At  the  tomb,  says  General  de  Segur,  "  Napoleon 


66  NArOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

paused  at  tlie  entrance  in  a  grave  and  respectful  attitude. 
He  gazed  into  the  sliadow  enclosing  the  hero's  ashes, 
and  stood  thus  for  nearly  ten  minutes,  motionless,  silent, 
as  if  buried  in  dee})  tliouglit."  The  sword  of  Frederick 
he  took  witli  him,  and  gave  it  to  the  Hotel  des  Invalides 
in  Paris,  witli  the  flags  carried  by  his  guard  in  the 
Seven  Years'  War. 

Early  in  November,  l*rince  Hohenlohe  surrendered 
twenty  thousand  Prussians  to  the  French ;  and  P>l(icher, 
whom  Napoleon  was  to  meet  again  at  Waterloo,  surren- 
dered twenty  thousand  men  and  over  tive  hundred  officers. 

With  all  this  victory,  Josei)hine  was  not  happy. 
Napoleon  wrote  her  Nov.  1 :  '•  Talleyrand  has  come, 
and  tells  me  you  do  nothing  but  cry."  She  wrote  to 
Hortense,  more  miserable  than  herself,  that  she  could 
not  be  liapi)y  so  far  from  the  Emj)eror. 

Napoleon,  while  at  Berlin,  issued,  Nov.  21,  1800,  his 
famous  '•  l»erlin  Decree,"  wherein  he  declared  the  Pritish 
Islands  blo(;ka(leil.  All  commerce  with  England  and  her 
(colonies  was  i)roliibited ;  all  property  belonging  to  an 
English  subject  confis(^ated ;  every  nativ(^  of  England 
found  in  a  country  occupied  by  French  troops  to  be  made 
prisoner  of  war. 

Napoleon  declared  tliat  this  was  a  retaliatory  measure 
against  Englaiul.  Every  French  ])ort  was,  in  fact,  block- 
a<led  by  English  vessels  from  the  Elbe  to  Brest,  by  a 
decree  of  the  I'.ritish  (Jovernment.  ])assed  in  May,  ISOG, 
according  to  Alison.  Some  months  after  the  Berlin 
Decree,  England  issued  fiiither  ]>rohil>itory  acts,  called 
Orders  in  Council.  The  c()nse(|uence  of  all  this  was  that 
liate  between  the  two  nations  was  increased. 

After  the  humiliation  of  Prussia,  the  war  went  on 
with  Russia.      After  some  minor  battles,  both  armies 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  57 

met- on  the  bloody  field  of  Eylau,  Feb.  7,  1807.  Jomini 
thinks  the  forces  about  equal,  though  some  historians 
place  the  number  at  eighty  thousand  Russians,  and  sixty 
thousand  French.  Part  of  Feb.  7  and  all  of  Feb.  8,  the 
armies  were  in  deadly  conflict.  A  blinding  snowstorm 
part  of  the  time  prevented  the  armies  from  seeing  each 
other.  The  snow  and  ice  were  so  thick  that  men  fought 
on  ponds  and  did  not  know  it. 

Fifty  thousand  dead  and  wounded  lay  on  the  snow. 
Marshal  Augereau's  corps  was  almost  destroyed;  three 
thousand  only  remained  out  of  fifteen  thousand.  Napoleon 
wrote  in  his  bulletins :  '•'  Imagine,  on  a  space  a  league 
square,  nine  or  ten  thousand  corpses ;  four  or  five  thousand 
dead  horses ;  lines  of  Russian  knapsacks ;  fragments  of 
guns  and  sabres;  the  earth  covered  with  bullets,  shells, 
supplies ;  twenty -four  cannon  surrounded  by  their  artillery- 
men, slain  just  as  they  were  trying  to  take  their  guns 
away ;  and  all  that  in  plainest  relief  on  the  stretch  of 
snow." 

He  said,  as  he  looked  upon  the  ghastly  field,  "  This 
sight  is  one  to  fill  rulers  with  a  love  of  peace  and  a 
horror  of  war.''  At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of 
Feb.  9,  he  wrote  to  Jose})hine :  "  We  had  a  great  battle 
yesterday.  I  was  victorious,  but  our  loss  was  heavy  ; 
that  of  the  enemy,  which  was  even  greater,  is  no  con- 
solation for  me.  I  write  you  these  few  lines  myself, 
tliough  I  am  very  tired,  to  tell  you  that  I  am  well  and 
love  you.  Ever  yours." 

Baron  de  Marbot,  in  his  most  interesting  memoirs, 
tells  of  his  thrilling  experiences  in  this  battle.  He  was 
at  that  time  an  officer  under  Augereau.  His  horse,  Li- 
sette,  of  whom  he  w^as  extremely  fond,  was  addicted  to 
biting,  but  valued  for  her  speed.     At  great  risk,  Marbot 


58  NAPOLEON  liONAPAliTE. 

carried  a  message  to  the  Fourteenth.  "  I  see  no  means 
of  saving  the  regiment,"  said  the  major;  "  return  to  the 
Emperor,  bid  him  farewell  from  the  Fourteenth  of  the 
line,  which  has  faithfully  executed  his  orders,  and  bear 
him  the  eagle  which  he  gave  us,  and  which  we  can  no 
longer  defend ;  it  would  add  too  much  to  the  pain  of 
death  to  see  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy." 

Marbot  took  the  eagle,  when  a  cannon  ball  went 
through  the  hinder  part  of  his  hat,  forcing,  by  the 
shook,  the  blood  from  his  nose,  ears,  aiul  even  eyes. 
His  limbs  were  almost  paralyzed.  A  hand  to  hand 
combat  raged  around  him.  Several  Frenchmen,  not  to 
be  struck  from  behind,  set  their  backs  against  the  sides 
of  Lisette,  who  stood  quite  still.  One  of  the  Russians 
thrust  his  bayonet  into  Marbot's  left  arm,  and  then  into 
Lisette's  thigh. 

*'  Her  ferocious  instincts  being  restored  by  the  i)ain," 
says  Marbot,  "  she  sprang  at  the  Russian,  and  at  one 
mouthful  tore  otf  his  nose,  lips,  eyebrows,  and  all  the 
skin  of  his  face,  nuiking  of  him  a  living  death's-head, 
dripping  with  blood.  Then,  hurling  herself  with  fury 
among  the  combatants,  kicking  and  biting,  Lisette  upset 
everything  that  she  met  on  the  road." 

She  seized  another  Russian  who  had  tried  to  hit 
Marbot,  "tore  out  his  entrails,  luid  mashed  his  body 
iinder  her  feet,  leaving  him  dying  on  the  snow." 

Wlien  Lisette  and  her  rider  reaclu'd  the  cemetery  of 
Eylau,  where  the  battle  was  hottest,  the  poor  creature 
fell  exhausted.  The  young  jMarbot,  supposed  to  be 
dead  amid  the  piles  of  dead  and  wounded,  was  stripped 
of  his  clothing.  He  Avas  marvellously  rescued  by  a 
servant,  who  cut  up  the  shiit  of  a  dead  soldier  and  ban- 
daged the  leg  of  Lisette,  by  which  she  also  was  saved. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  59 

Lisette,  after  doing  service  just  before  Friedlaud  by 
galloping  twelve  leagues  on  a  hot  day  to  carry  a  message 
of  warning  to  the  Emperor,  was  cared  for  by  the  wife  of 
an  officer,  and  died  of  old  age. 

Napoleon  shared  with  his  soldiers  all  the  dangers  and 
privations  of  war.  He  wrote  to  his  brother  Joseph : 
"The  staif-officers  have  not  taken  off  their  clothes  for 
two  months,  and  some  not  for  four.  I  have  myself  been 
a  fortnight  without  taking  off  my  boots.  We  are  deep 
in  the  snow  and  n)ud.  .  .  .  The  wounded  have  to  be 
carried  in  open  sleighs  for  fifty  leagues." 

Josephine  wished  to  come  to  him.  He  wrote  :  "  You 
couldn't  be  racing  through  inns  and  camps.  I  am  as 
anxious  as  you  can  be  to  see  you  and  be  quiet.  .  .  .  All 
my  life  I  have  sacrificed  everything  —  peace,  interest, 
happiness — to  my  destiny." 

The  next  great  battle  was  at  Friedland,  when  eighty 
tliousand  French  met  seventy-five  thousand  Kussians. 
"  This  is  the  anniversary  of  Marengo,"  said  Napoleon, 
June  14,  1800,  "  and  to-day  fortune  is  with  me." 

And  so  it  proved.  The  Russians  fought  desperately, 
but  they  were  overpowered.  They  retreated  towards  the 
river,  and  thousands  who  were  not  captured  were  drowned. 
They  lost  twenty-six  thousand,  says  Marbot,  in  dead  and 
wounded,  and  the  French  about  half  that  number. 

The  conquered  were  glad  to  make  peace,  Avhich  was  con- 
cluded at  Tilsit,  July  7,  1<S07,  between  Alexander  I.  of 
Russia,  Frederick  AVilliam  III.  of  Prussia,  and  Napoleon. 
By  this  treaty,  among  other  articles,  some  provinces 
west  of  the  Elbe  were  made  into  tlie  kingdom  of  West- 
phalia, ;ind  another  brotlier  of  NapoU'on,  Jerome,  was 
placed  upon  a  throne.  He  had  married,  when  nineteen. 
Miss  Elizabeth  Patterson    of   Baltimore :    but  through 


60  NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

Nai)oleoii's  influence  tlie  union  was  annulled,  and  he 
married,  at  twenty-three,  Aug.  23,  1807,  the  daughter  of 
the  king  of  WUrteiuberg.  She  proved  a  noble  woman. 
When  her  husband  was  dethroned  in  1814,  she  refused 
to  obtain  a  divorce,  writing  to  her  father :  "  Having  been 
forced,  by  reasons  of  state,  to  marry  the  king,  my 
husband,  it  has  been  granted  me  by  fate  to  be  the 
happiest  woman  in  tlie  world." 

Napoleon  said  of  her  at  Saint  Helena,  "  Princess 
Catherine  of  AVUrtemberg  has,  with  her  own  hands, 
written  her  name  in  history." 

Kapolecm  returned  to  I'aris  after  the  peace  of  Tilsit, 
and  was  received  with  unbounded  love  and  honor.  He 
made  Paris  more  beautiful  with  arches  and  churches,  he 
developed  her  industries,  and  he  established  schools  and 
colleges.  He  said,  '•  We  must  not  puss  through  this 
Avorld  without  leaving  traces  which  may  commend  our 
memory  to  posterity." 

England  was  still  the  bitter  enemy  of  Napoleon.  The 
decrees  of  both  regarding  commerce  were  soon  to  plunge 
nearly  all  Europe  into  war.  ]iy  agreement  of  Alexander 
and  Napoleon,  if  England  did  not  consent  to  petlce,  they 
were  to  siuumon  Denmark,  Sweden,  I'ortugal,  and  per- 
luij)S  Austria,  to  close  their  ])orts  against  her.  Denmark 
wished  to  be  neutral.  While  she  hesitated,  England, 
having  heard  of  tliis  j)roj('ct,  sent  a  fleet  against  Copen- 
hagen and  bombarded  it. 

Napoleon  sent  an  army  under  Junot  into  Portugal  to 
compel  her  assent,  and  ^lunit  into  Spain,  which  at  that 
time  was  friendly  with  Francf,  tliough  distracted  by 
royal  dissensions.  Napoleon  ])laced  his  brother  Joseph 
on  the  throne.  Mr.  IJopes  thinks,  and  jjrobably  correctly, 
that  Napoleon  supposed  *'  tlu'  population  of  the  Spanish 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  61 

peninsula  was  ready  for  the  great  reforms  in  government 
in  ■which  France  liad  led  the  way,  and  in  which  Holland, 
Western  Germany,  and  Italy  were  then  cheerfully  and 
hopefully  marching,  and  that  the  better  and  more  enlight- 
ened part  of  the  Spanisli  people  would  be  thankful  to  see 
a  liberal,  intelligent,  and  conscientious  man  like  Joseph 
take  the  place  of  the  bigoted  and  profligate  Charles  IV." 

Napoleon  said  at  St.  Helena  :  "  It  was  the  subject  of 
my  perpetual  dreams  to  render  Paris  the  real  capital 
of  Europe.  .  .  .  My  ambition  Avas  of  the  higliest  and 
noblest  kind  that  ever  existed,  —  that  of  establishing 
and  consecrating  the  empire  of  reason,  and  the  full  exer- 
cise and  complete  enjoyment  of  all  the  liuman  faculties." 

A  dreadful  insurrection  took  place  in  Spain  against  the 
rule  of  Joseph,  and  Napoleon  sent  a  large  army  to  quell 
it.  He  succeeded  in  reinstating  Joseph  on  the  throne 
for  a  time.  He  abolished  the  Inquisition  and  began 
several  reforms. 

The  insurrection  in  Spain  gave  great  joy  in  England. 
"  Tlie  general  rapture  knew  no  bounds,"  says  Alison. 
England  sent  her  armies  into  Spain  and  Portugal,  and 
the  Peninsular  War  resulted,  which  Napier  lias  de- 
scribed so  vividly.  To  restore  Ferdinand,  the  son  of 
Cliarles  IV.,  to  Spain,  England  spent,  says  Napier,  one 
hundred  millions  sterling,  about  five  hundred  million 
dollars,  "  and  the  bones  of  forty  thousand  Pritish  soldiers 
lie  scattered  on  the  plains  and  mountains  of  the  Penin- 
sula." The  heroic  Sir  John  Moore  fell  at  Corunna,  and 
was  buried  in  his  bloody  cloak  at  night  by  torchlight. 

"  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rainiiarts  we  luirried; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  wliere  our  hero  we  buried." 


62  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

His  last  words  were,  "  I  hope  the  peoi)le  of  England 
will  be  satisfied.  I  hope  my  country  will  do  me  justice." 
After  his  death,  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley,  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  was  made  commander-in-chief  of  ■  all  the 
English  troops  in  the  Spanish  peninsula.  Austria  con- 
sidered this  an  opportune  time  to  make  war  on  Napoleon. 
The  latter  raised  another  immense  army,  —  Lanf  rey  says 
with  much  truth,  "  France  was  bleeding  to  death,"  — 
marched  against  Austria,  and  several  bloody  battles 
resulted. 

At  EckmUhl  the  Austrians,  says  Marbot,  admitted  a 
loss  of  five  thousand  killed,  and  fifteen  thousand  pris- 
oners. Napoleon  said  at  St.  Helena,  "  The  greatest 
military  man(BUvres  I  ever  made,  and  those  for  which  I 
give  myself  most  credit,  were  performed  at  EckmUhl." 

At  Ratisbon  tlie  Emperor  was  wounded  in  the  foot, 
just  before  tlie  retaking.  So  wild  were  the  soldiers  at 
tlie  news,  that  as  soon  as  his  wound  was  dressed  he  rode 
in  front  of  the  whole  line  to  appease  their  anxiety. 

After  some  other  successes,  Napoleon  reached  Vienna, 
May  10,  the  Emj^eror  Francis  having  fled,  as  before,  to  a 
place  of  safety.  Napoleon  went  at  once  to  the  royal 
palace  of  Schonbrunn. 

Tlie  enemy  were  now  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Danube. 
The  spring  rains  had  swollen  the  great  river,  and  the 
crossing  was  most  liazardous.  In  the  midst  of  the 
thousand  yards  of  water  was  the  huge  Island  of  Lobau, 
four  and  a  half  mihis  long.  Here  the  troops  of  Napo- 
leon intrenched  themselves,  and  built  a  bridge  of  boats 
to  either  side  of  tlie  Danube.  As  soon  as  a  portion  of 
the  French  troops  had  crossed  the  river,  and  reached  the 
towns  of  Aspern  and  Essling,  the  Austrians  fell  upon 
them  with  great  slaughter,  compelling  tlie   French   to 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  63 

retreat  to  the  Island  of  Lobau,  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
In  these  battles  the  heroic  Lannes  had  both  legs  crushed 
by  a  cannon-ball.  One  leg  was  amputated.  The  P]m- 
peror  knelt  beside  the  stretcher  and  wept  as  he  embraced 
Lannes,  whose  blood  stained  Napoleon's  white  kersey- 
mere waistcoat. 

"  You  will  live,  my  friend,  you  will  live,"  said  the 
Emperor. 

"  I  trust  I  may,  if  I  can  still  be  of  use  to  France  and 
your  Majesty,"  was  the  rejily. 

After  his  death,  said  Marbot,  "Napoleon  embraced 
the  marshal's  body,  bathing  it  with  tears,  and  saying  re- 
peatedly, '  What  a  loss  for  France  and  for  me  ! ' " 

The  losses  at  this  double  battle  are  variously  estimated 
from  twenty  to  fifty  thousand ;  Lanfrey  accepts  the 
latter  number.  Seeley  calls  it  "  one  of  the  most  terrible 
and  bloody  battles  of  the  period."  Nai)oleon  at  once 
began  to  build  substantial  bridges  on  piles  across  the 
Damibe,  one  of  them  eight  hundred  yards  long,  broad 
enougli  for  tliree  carriages  to  pass  abreast.  These 
bridges  were  finished  in  twenty  days,  and  compelled 
great  admiration. 

To  the  astonishment  of  the  Austrians,  he  crossed  most 
of  his  army  of  150,000  men  during  the  night  of  July  4, 
and  on  July  6  fought  the  dreadful  battle  of  Wagram. 
Aliout  .^O.OOO  were  in  the  battle.  Fifty  thousand  on 
both  sid(>s  were  killed  and  wcMinded,  probalHy  about  an 
equal  number  in  <'ach  army. 

Tlie  weather  was  extremely  hot,  and  the  corn  on  the 
battle-field  caught  fire  from  the  shells.  "The  move- 
ments of  both  armies  were  hampered  by  the  necessity  of 
avoiding  it,"  says  Marbot ;  "  for  if  once  troops  were  over- 
taken  by  it,   pouches   and    wagons   exploded,   carrying 


64  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

destruction  through  the  ranks.  ...  Of  the  soldiers  who 
were  severely  wounded,  great  numbers  perished  in  the 
flames ;  and  of  those  whom  the  fire  did  not  reach,  many- 
lay  for  days  hidden  by  the  tall  corn,  living  during  that 
time  on  the  ears.  The  Emperor  had  the  plains  searched 
by  bands  of  cavalry,  and  vehicles  were  brought  from 
Vienna  to  remove  the  wounded,  friends  and  foes  alike. 
But  few  of  those  even  whom  the  fire  had  passed  re- 
covered, and  the  soldiers  had  a  saying  that  straw-fire 
had  killed  nearly  as  many  as  gun-fire." 

"  After  the  battle,"  says  General  Savary,  "  the  Em- 
peror sent  sixty  francs  in  crown  pieces  to  each  wounded 
soldier,  and  more  tlian  this  to  each  officer." 

Oct.  14,  1800,  tlie  peace  of  Vienna  was  signed  at 
Schoid)runn,  between  France  and  Austria.  "  I  committed 
a  great  fault  after  the  battle  of  Wagram,"  said  Napoleon 
at  St.  Helena,  "  in  not  reducing  the  power  of  Austria 
still  more.  Slie  remained  too  strong  for  our  safety,  and 
to  her  we  must  attribute  our  ruin." 

On  Napoleon's  return  to  France  he  had  made  iip  his 
mind  to  an  act  which  will  always  tarnish  his  fame,  and 
from  which  the  decadence  of  his  empire  may  be  dated. 
He  would  divorce  Josephine,  and  marry  another,  with 
the  hope  that  lie  might  have  an  heir  to  the  throne. 
Undoubtedly  he'  believed  he  was  doing  the  l)est  thing 
for  France ;  and  Thiers  says  the  French  ])eople,  while 
they  loved  Josephine,  wished  for  tlie  divorce. 

On  Nov.  .30,  l.SOO,  as  he  and  Josephine  were  dining 
together  at  Fcmtainebleau,  not  a  word  having  been 
uttered  except  Napoleon  asked  one  of  the  servants  what 
time  it  was,  he  comnuniicated  to  her  his  decision.  After 
dismissing  the  servants,  he  came  to  her,  took  her  hand, 
pressed  it  to  his  heart,  and  said,  "  Josephine !  my  dear 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  65 

Josephine !  Yon  know  how  I  have  loved  you.  ...  To 
you,  to  you  alone,  I  owe  the  only  moments  of  happiness 
I  have  tasted  in  this  world.  But,  Josephine,  my  destiny 
is  not  to  be  controlled  by  my  will.  My  dearest  affections 
must  yield  to  the  interests  of  France." 

"  I  expected  this,"  said  poor  Josephine,  "  but  the  blow 
is  none  the  less  mortal." 

She  became  at  once  insensible  ;  and  Napoleon,  alarmed, 
hastily  called  assistance  and  bore  her  to  her  room.  He 
came  to  see  her  in  the  evening,  and  wept. 

Eugene  determined  at  once  to  resign  his  position  as 
Viceroy  of  Italy,  biit  his  mother  begged  him  to  remain 
the  friend  of  Napoleon. 

On  Dec.  15,  at  the  Tuileries,  before  the  officers  of  the 
Empire,  the  divorce  was  announced.  Josephine  was  al- 
most overcome  by  her  sobs.  "The  Emperor  will  always 
find  in  me  his  best  friend,"  she  said,  and  so  it  proved. 

The  next  day  the  divorce  was  consummated  before  the 
Senate.  Eugene  announced  the  divorce,  saying,  "  The 
tears  of  the  Emperor  do  honor  to  my  mother."  Jose- 
phine, in  a  simple  white  muslin  dress,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  Hortense,  entered  and  signed  the  fatal  decree. 
Both  mother  and  daughter  were  in  tears,  as  well  as 
many  of  those  present.  '  Eug6ne,  who  idolized  his  mother, 
fell  fainting  to  the  floor.  That  evening  when  Josephine 
thought  her  husband  had  retired,  she  came  to  his  room, 
her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping,  and  tottering  towards 
the  bed  fell  upon  his  neck,  and  sobbed  as  though  her 
heart  would  break.  They  wept  together,  and  talked  for 
an  hour.  The  next  day  Na^xjleon  came  to  see  her, 
accompanied  by  his  secretary,  Meneval.  ''  He  pressed 
her  to  his  bosom  with  the  most  ardent  embraces,"  says 
Meneval.     "  In  the  excess  of  her  emotion  she  fainted." 


66  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

At  eleven  o'clock  tlie  same  day,  veiled  from  head  to 
foot,  Josephine  entered  a  close  carriage  drawn  by  six 
horses,  said  good-by  to  the  Tnileries  forever,  and  was 
driven  to  Malmaison.  8he  retained  the  title  of  Empress, 
with  $600,000  a  year  for  her  supix)rt.  Napoleon  passed 
eiglit  days  in  retirement  at  Trianon.  On  his  return  to 
the  Tuileries,  he  wrote  to  her,  "  I  have  been  very  lonely. 
.  .  .  This  great  palace  appears  to  me  empty,  and  I  find 
myself  in  solitude.     Adieu,  my  love." 

He  frequently  visited  Malmaison.  One  day  he  found 
Josephine  painting  a  violet.  She  says,  "  He  threw  him- 
self with  transport  into  the  arms  of  his  old  friend.  .  .  . 
It  seemed  impossible  for  him  to  cease  gazing  upon  me, 
and  his  look  was  that  of  tlie  most  tender  affection. 
At  length  he  said,  'My  dear  Josephine,  I  have  always 
loved  you.     I  love  you  still.     Do  you  still  love  me  ?  " 

Three  months  later,  Mar.  11,  1810,  Napoleon  was  mar- 
ried by  proxy  at  Vienna,  Arcliduke  Charles  representing 
him  at  the  wedding,  to  Marie  Louise,  the  daugliter  of 
Emperor  Francis  I.  of  Austria.  He  met  her  with  his 
suite  at  the  palace  of  Compiegne.  She  was  eighteen, 
with  light  hair,  and  blue  eyes,  and  gentle  in  manner. 
Napoleon  was  forty. 

The  civil  marriage  was  celebrated  at  St.  Cloud,  April  1 ; 
and  the  next  day  they  made  their  triumphal  entry  into 
Paris,  by  the  Arc  de  I'Etoile,  to  the  Tuileries,  amid  the 
cheers  of  three  hundred  thousand  people.  The  world 
must  have  been  amazed  at  such  a  xinidn  of  France  and 
Austria,  —  nations  which  had  been  at  war  for  years.  No 
wonder  Napoleon,  at  St.  Helena,  spoke  of  it  as  "  an  abyss 
covered  with  a  l)ed  of  flowers." 

Two  weeks  later  Jose})hine  wrote  liim,  "Your  majesty 
shall  never  be  troubled  in  liis  lia})piness  by  an  expression 


NAPOLEON  liONAPAltTE.  67 

of  my  grief.  I  offer  incessant  prayers  that  your  majesty 
may  be  happy." 

A  year  after  his  marriage,  Mar.  20,  1811,  a  son,  Najjo- 
leou  Francis,  was  born  to  Kapoleon,  called  the  King  of 
Home,  as  the  Roman  States  had  been  annexed  to  the 
Empire.  All  France  rejoiced  when  the  firing  of  one 
hundred  guns   announced  the  event. 

Josephine  wrote  at  once,  telling  Napoleon,  "  More  than 
any  one  in  the  world  do  I  rejoice  in  your  joy."  Of  Marie 
Louise  she  wrote,  "  She  cannot  be  more  tenderly  devoted 
to  you  than  1  am,  but  she  has  been  enabled  to  contribute 
more  toward  your  happiness,  by  securing  that  of  France. 
.  .  .  Not  till  you  have  ceased  to, watch  by  her  bed,  not 
till  you  are  weary  of  embracing  your  son,  will  you  take 
your  pen  to  converse  with  your  best  friend.  I  Avill 
wait." 

Napoleon  brought  his  child  to  Josephine.  ''The  mo- 
ment I  saw  you  enter,"  she  wrote  him,  "bearing  the 
young  Na^xdeon  in  your  hands,  was  unquestionably  one 
of  the  happiest  of  my  life." 

He  said  at  St.  Helena :  "  Josephine  would  willingly 
have  seen  Marie  Louise.  She  frequently  spoke  of  her 
with  great  interest.  .  .  .  Marie  Louise  manifested  the 
utmost  dislike,  and  even  jealousy,  of  Josephine.  I  wished 
one  day  to  take  her  to  Malmaison,  but  she  burst  into 
tears  when  I  made  the  ])roposal.  She  said  she  did  not 
object  to  my  visiting  Josephine,  only  she  did  not  wish  to 
know  it.  Bnt  whenever  she  susjieeted  my  intention  of 
going  to  Malmaison,  there  was  no  stratagem  which  she 
did  not  employ  for  the  sake  of  annoying  me." 

The  emperor  was  devoted  to  his  son,  and  always  con- 
siderate and  tender  to  Marie  Louise.  The  boy  developed 
into  a  very  beautifvd  and  bright  child,  winning  the  love 
of  everybody. 


68  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

A  little  more  tlian  a  year  after  the  birth  of  the  King 
of  Rome,  Russia  and  France  were  again  at  war.  What- 
ever Alexander's  personal  feelings  toward  Napoleon,  his 
nobles  were  opposed  to  him  ;  they  disliked  his  restric- 
tions on  commerce,  and  feared  his  growing  power, 
Russia  and  England  became  allies,  though  Napoleon 
offered  to  make  peace  with  the  latter,  wliich  offers  she 
always  declined.  Pi'obably  tlie  real  truth  was  they  all 
wished  to  humble  Napt)leon. 

Russia  and  France  each  raised  a  great  army,  the  latter 
about  a  half  million  men. 

Napoleon  left  l*aris  for  Dresden,  May  0,  taking  Marie 
Louise  Avith  him.  He  left  her  at  Prague.  Before  he 
started  from  Paris  he  spent  two  hours  in  earnest  conver- 
sation with  Josephine  at  Malmaison. 

This  Grand  Army  must  have  made  an  imposing  appear- 
ance, with  tlieir  twenty  thousand  carriages,  one  hundred 
and  eighty  thousand  horses  employed  in  the  artillery, 
besides  thousands  of  provision  wagons  and  baggage. 

He  began  to  cross  the  river  Niemen,  which  em])ties 
into  the  lialtic,  on  the  night  of  June  23,  1S12.  The 
policy  of  the  Russians  was  to  retreat,  burning  the  towns 
through  which  they  passed,  and  destroying  all  produce, 
that  the  French  might  find  no  support  iji  the  desolated 
country. 

The  first  terrible  liattle  was  at  Borodino,  Sei)t.  7, 
where  the  French  lost  about  tliirty  thousand,  and  the 
Russians  fifty  tliousand,  in  killed  and  wounded. 

On  Sept.  14,  Napoleon  and  liis  weary  army  —  many 
thousands  had  been  stationed  at  various  places  along 
the  route  —  entered  Moscow.  Here  they  hoped  for 
food  and  rest.  They  found  the  great  city  deserted. 
Powder  had  been  placed  under  the  Kremlin,  and  shells 


NAPOLEON   BONAPAllTE.  69 

under  the  larger  palaces,  where  Napoleon  and  his  officers 
would  be  apt  to  lodge ;  water-pipes  had  been  cut,  foun- 
tains destroyed ;  and,  the  day  after  Napoleon's  arrival, 
the  whole  city  was  set  on  fire  by  Russians  detailed  for 
that  purpose.  No  wonder  Napoleon  said,  years  later,  of 
this  terrible  destruction  of  a  great  city,  "  It  was  the  most 
gi-and,  the  most  sublime,  the  most  terrific  sight  the  world 
ever  beheld ! " 

Napoleon  wrote  to  the  Tsar  proposing  peace ;  but  no 
answer  was  ever  returned,  though  he  waited  some  Aveeks 
in  Moscow,  hoping  to  hear  favorably.  The  more  intelli- 
gent serfs  offered  to  rise  against  their  masters,  and  aid 
Najwleon,  but  he  did  not  desire  civil  war. 

On  Oct.  19, 1812,  the  Grand  Army  of  France,  one  hun- 
dred thousand  strong,  commenced  its  heart-breaking  re- 
treat. Deep  snow  had  already  come,  earlier  than  usual. 
Kutusof,  the  Russian  general,  moved  his  army  parallel 
to  the  French,  and  fought  them  at  every  available  point. 
Marshal  Ney  covered  the  rear,  and  made  for  himself  an 
immortal  record.  Napoleon  rightly  called  him  "  The 
Bravest  of  the  Brave."  When  they  reached  Boridono 
they  sadly  turned  their  heads  away  from  the  battle-fields 
where  the  bodies  of  thirty  thousand  men  Avere  half  de- 
voured by  Avolves.  The  cold  became  intense.  Horses 
slipped  and  fell  on  the  icy  ground.  Artillery  and  bag- 
gage Avere  abandoned.  There  was  no  food  in  the  devas- 
tated country.  Where  Napoleon  had  left  provisions  on 
his  Avay  to  Moscoav  the  enemy  had  destroyed  them.  Men 
ate  their  horses  for  food.  Tliey  lay  doAvn  at  niglit  on 
the  snow  to  sleep,  and  never  rose.  *'  P]very  morning," 
says  Marbot,  "Ave  left  tliousands  of  dead  in  our  bivouacs. 
...  So  intense  Avas  the  cold  tliat  Ave  could  see  a  kind 
of  vapor  rising  from  men's  ears  and  eyes.     Condensing, 


70  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

on  contiiot  with  the  air,  this  vapor  fell  back  on  our  per- 
sons witli  a  rattle  such  as  grains  of  millet  might  have 
made.  "\\'e  liad  often  to  halt  and  clear  away  from  the 
horses'  bits  the  icicles  formed  by  their  frozen  breath.  .  .  . 
Many  soldiers  of  all  ranks  blew  out  their  brains  to  put 
an  end  to  their  misery.  .  .  .  All  ranks  were  confounded ; 
there  were  no  arms,  no  military  bearings ;  soldiers,  offi- 
cers, generals,  were  clad  in  rags,  and  for  boots  had  noth- 
ing but  strips  of  leather  or  cloth,  hardly  fastened  together 
witli  a  string."  The  Emperor  himself  was  grave,  calm, 
and  self-coutroUed,  with  no  diminution  of  courage. 

The  soldiers  of  the  allies  of  Napoleon,  Austria,  Prussia, 
Spain,  and  others,  deserted  by  the  thousands,  the  Rus- 
sians having  sent  proclamations  in  various  languages 
into  the  camps,  telling  them  they  should  be  returned  to 
their  homes. 

Finally  they  reached  the  river  Beresina,  the  bridge 
over  which  had  been  destroyed  by  the  Kussians.  Tear- 
ing down  the  hovels  in  the  village,  the  French  biiilt  two 
bridges  at  night,  the  men  standing  for  six  or  seven 
hours  in  the  water.  Then  the  troops  surged  upon  them, 
and  one  bridge  broke  under  the  weight  of  guns  and  men. 
In  rushing  upon  the  other,  great  crowds  were  forced  into 
the  river  and  drowned.  The  llussians  meantime  swept 
tliem  with  cannon.  From  twenty  to  twenty-five  thousand 
men  ix'rished  in  tliis  dreadful  crossing  of  the  Beresina. 

On  Dec.  5,  1812,  they  were  within  the  borders  of 
Poland ;  and  Napoleon,  having  learned  that  his  death 
had  been  ])roclaimed  in  Paris,  and  that  a  man  had  tried 
to  usurp  tlu;  ])ower,  left  his  army  in  charge  of  Murat, 
and,  with  two  offi(^ers,  hastened  by  sledges  to  Paris,  which 
he  reached  Dec.  18. 

The   loss  of  the  French  army  and  its  allies  in  the 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  71 

Russian  campaign  Thiers  estimates  as  300,000  men ; 
other  authorities  make  it  o50,000 ;  100,000  were  killed 
in  tlie  advance  and  retreat  from  Moscow  ;  150,000  died 
of  hunger,  fatigue,  and  cold ;  100,000  were  taken  prisoners. 
The  Kussian  losses  were  also  heavy. 

Prussia  now  joined  herself  to  Russia,  and  declared 
war  against  France.  Napoleon  at  once  raised  another 
army  of  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  by  conscription, 
and  defeated  the  enemy  at  Liitzen,  or  Gross-Beeren,  and 
Uautzen.  His  young  conscripts  fought  heroically.  His 
beloved  Marshal  Duroc  was  killed  just  after  the  latter 
battle.  Napoleon  wept  as  he  left  him  dying,  saying, 
"Duroc,  there  is  another  life.  .  .  .  We  shall  one  day 
meet  again." 

Austria  offered  to  be  a  mediator,  but  failing,  hastened 
to  join  Pi-ussia  and  Russia.  The  marriage  with  Marie 
Louise  had  not  won  Napoleon  friends,  as  he  had  fondly 
hoped. 

The  allies  now  had  five  hundred  thousand  men,  the 
Prussians  under  lUUcher,  the  Austrians  under  Schwarz- 
enberg.  Upon  Aug.  27,  1813,  Napoleon  defeated  them 
at  Dresden,  where  they  left  forty  thousand  on  the  field, 
half  of  whom  were  prisoners,  but  was  himself  defeated 
in  the  dreadful  battle  of  Leipsic,  Oct.  lG-19. 

Pavaria  and  Westphalia  had  been  comj)elled  to  join 
the  allies,  wliose  forces  thrice  outnumbered  tlie  French. 
The  Swedes,  uiuler  Pernadotte,  had  now  turned  against 
France.  "In  the  three  days'  battle,"  says  Alison,  "the 
French  lost  60,000  men,  and  the  allies  nearly  as  many." 

In  the  retreat  of  tlie  French  from  Leipsic  they  were 
obliged  to  cross  the  Elster  river.  The  bridge  had  been 
mined,  and  by  a  mistike  was  exploded  before  all  the 
French   had   passed   over,     Marbot  says,  of   those  who 


72  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

were  left  in  Leipsic,  about  i;i,()0O  wtre  killed,  and  2o,(HM) 
made  i)risonei-s. 

Meantime  the  English  had  been  victorious  over  the 
French  in  Spain  and  I'ortugal,  and  Joseph  Bonaparte 
had  been  driven  from  the  throne.  He  came  to  the 
United  States  and  lived  at  l^ordentown,  New  Jersey,  for 
some  years,  dying  at  Florence,  Italy,  July  L'8,  1844,  at 
the  age  of  seventy-six. 

The  allies  now  pushed  into  France,  det(!rmined  to  enter 
Paris  and  dethrone  Napoleon.  The  Emperor  raised  a 
new  army,  and  with  prodigious  energy  and  coui-age 
fought  against  the  coalition  of  Europe.  Often  with  his 
forces  greatly  inferior  in  number  to  the  allies,  he  defeated 
them,  but  finally  he  was  overborne.  Marie  Louise  fled 
to  lilois.  The  young  King  of  Kome  refused  to  go. 
"They  are  betraying  my  papa,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  not 
go  away.  I  do  not  wish  to  leave  the  i»ahice."  He  wept 
as  he  was  taken  to  the  carriage.  His  governess  prom- 
ised that  he  should  come  back,  but  she  Avas  never  able  to 
keep  her  promise. 

Paris  capitulated  ^March  30,  1814  ;  and  the  Senate, 
through  the  lead  of  Talleyrand,  declared  that  Napoleon 
and  his  family  had  forfeited  the  throne. 

NaiMjleon  arrived  at  Paris  a  ft'W  hours  after  the  cai)it- 
ulation,  stunned  at  the  news.  Fearh>ss  as  ever,  lie 
wished  to  attack  the  allies,  but  was  persuaded  by  his 
marshals  to  desist. 

With  agony  of  soul,  but  calmness  of  demeanor,  he 
signed  his  abdication  at  Fontainebleau,  April  G,  1814  : 
"  The  Em})(;ror  Na})oleon  declares  that  he  renounces,  for 
himself  and  his  heirs,  the  tlirone  of  P'rance  and  Italy  ; 
and  that  there  is  no  personal  sacrifice,  not  even  that  of 
life  itself,  which  he  is  not  willing  to  make  for  the 
interests  of  France." 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  73 

By  the  will  of  the  allies,  Louis  XVIII.  was  recalled, 
and  Napoleon  was  banished  to  the  Island  of  Elba,  east  of 
Corsica,  with  an  annual  income  from  France  of  ii!5()0,000. 
He  bade  the  Old  Guard  an  affectionate  good-by.  "  Adieu, 
my  children,"  he  said.  "  I  would  that  I  could  press  you 
all  to  my  heart.  Let  me  at  least  embrace  your  general 
and  your  eagle."  He  put  his  arms  around  General  Petit, 
and  kissed  the  eagle  on  its  silver  beak.  Amid  the  tears 
and  sobs  of  his  brave  soldiers,  on  April  20,  Napoleon 
drove  away  from  Fontainebleau  to  Frejus,  and  in  the 
British  frigate.  The  Undaunted,  set  sail  for  Elba,  April 
27,  1814. 

He  had  frequently  written  tt^  Josephine  through  these 
melancholy  months.  Once  he  wrote :  "  To  me  death 
would  now  be  a  blessing.  But  I  would  once  more  see 
Josephine,"  and  he  saw  her  before  liis  de])arture. 

Four  days  before  he  left  Fontainebleau  for  Elba,  he 
wrote,  "  Adieu,  my  dear  Josephine,  lie  resigned,  as  I 
am,  and  never  forget  liim  who  never  forgot,  aiul  who 
never  will  forget  you.     Farewell,  Josephine." 

She  longed  to  follow  liim  to  Elba,  but  waited  to  see  if 
Marie  Louise  would  join  him.  At  first  Marie  Louise 
desired  to  go  to  him,  but  Avas  prevailed  ui)on  by  her 
father,  the  Emperor  Francis,  to  retnrn  to  Austria,  Avhere 
she  and  her  son  became  virtually  prisoners.  She  finally 
retired  to  the  Ducliy  of  Parma,  wliieh  tlie  allies  had 
given  her,  and  later  married  her  chamberlain.  Count  de 
Neipperg,  an  Austrian  general. 

Josephine  Avrote  to  Napoleon  :  "  I  have  been  cm  the 
point  of  quitting  France  to  follow  yonr  footsteps,  and  to 
consecrate  to  you  the  remainder  of  an  existence  which 
you  so  long  embellished.  A  single  motive  restrains  me, 
and  that  you  may  divine.  .  .  .  Say  but  the  word,  and  I 
depart," 


74  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

As  soon  as  Napoleon  went  to  Elba,  Josephine's  health 
rapidly  declined.  She  eanglit  cold  in  driving  in  the 
park  at  Malniaison.  When  near  death  she  said  to 
llortense,  '*  I  can  say  with  truth,  in  this,  my  dying  hour, 
that  the  first  wife  of  Napoleon  never  caused  a  single 
tear  to  flow." 

Napoleon  landed  at  Elba,  May  4,  1814.  A  month 
later.  May  29,  Josephine  died,  uttering,  with  her  last 
breath,  "Napoleon!  Elba!" 

"  I  have  seen,"  said  Mademoiselle  Avrillon,  the  first 
lady  of  her  bedchamber,  "  the  Empress  eTosephine's  sleej)- 
lessness  and  her  terrible  dreams.  I  have  known  her  to 
pfiss  wliole  days  buried,  in  the  gloomiest  thought.  I 
know  what  I  have  seen  and  heard,  and  I  am  sure  that 
grief  killed  her! " 

Najjoleon's  mother,  a  woman  of  sixty-four,  and  his 
sister  Pauline,  joined  him  at  Elba.  The  latter  had 
married  Trince  Uorghese  in  1803,  but  they  soon  sepa- 
rated. After  several  years  tliey  were  reconciled  to  each 
other.     She  died  at  Florence  in  1825. 

Napoleon  remained  at  Elba  ten  months,  when  he 
escaped,  landed  at  Cannes,  Mar.  1,  1815,  raised  an 
army  in  France  as  if  by  magic,  and  entered  Paris  at  its 
head,  Mar.  20. 

The  people  seemed  glad  to  be  rid  of  Louis  XVIII., 
wlio  fled  at  midiiiglit.  Mar.  10.  Napoleon  said,  with 
mucli  trutli,  "The  IJourbons,  during  their  exile,  had 
learned  nothing,  and  forgotten  notliing."  The  Grand 
"Army  joyously  received  tlieir  leader.  The  i)eople 
shouted  tliemselves  hoarse.  Tliey  wei)t,  and  sang  songs 
of  thanksgiving.  Paris  was  brilliant  with  illuminations. 
When  he  reached  tlie  Tuileries,  he  was  seized  and  borne 
aloft  above  the  heads  of  the  throng.     The  ladies  of  the 


r 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  75 

court,  says  Alison,  "received  him  with  transports,  and 
imprinted  fervent  kisses  on  his  clieeks,  his  hands,  and 
even  his  dress.  Never  was  such  a  scene  witnessed  in 
history."  Hortense  and  her  two  children  were  at  the 
Tuileries  to  welcome  Napoleon. 

The  allies  cared  little  whom  France  wished  to  rule  her. 
They  preferred  the  conservative  Bourbons  or  indeed  any- 
body who  would  not  disturb  the  so-called  balance  of 
power  in  Europe.  They  at  once  banded  themselves  to- 
gether, England,  Austria,  Russia,  I'russia,  Portugal, 
Si)ain,  and  Sweden,  to  cru.sh  this  "  enemy  and  disturber 
of  the  world." 

A  million  men  were  soon  raised  by  the  allies,  and 
Nai)oleon  brouglit  together  over  200,000.  He  decided  at 
once  to  take  the  offensive  rather  than  let  the  allies  in- 
vade France.  He  left  ]*aris  for  l^elgium,  June  12,  1815, 
taking  with  him  about  120,000  nuui.  He  drove  the 
Prussians  out  of  Charleroi,  and  on  June  1(1  gained  a 
victory  over  the  I'russian  marshal,  ]>lticher,  at  Ligny. 
Jomini,  who  is  usually  authentic,  says  Napoleon  had 
72,000  in  tlie  battU-,  and  P.liicher  from  80,000  to  <)0,000. 
It  was  a  hotly  contested  battle-held  in  wliich  tlie  Prus- 
sians lost  from  12,000  to  20,000  men.     Thiers  says  30,000. 

P>lti('her  had  his  gray  charger,  given  him  by  the  Prince 
Regent  of  England,  shot  under  him,  and  Avas  nearly 
killed  in  the  retreat. 

Tlie  same  day  occurred  the  desperate  battle  of  Quatre- 
Bras,  in  whicli  Marshal  Ney  was  defeated. 

On  June  18,  1815,  the  decisive  battle  of  AVaterloo  was 
fought,  nine  miles  south-east  of  Brussels.  Napoleon's 
forces,  according  to  Jomini  and  Thiers,  were  70,000  in 
number  ;  Seeley  and  Ropes  say  72,000.  AVellington  had 
about  68,000. 


76  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

The  ground  was  so  drenched  by  rains  that  tlie  battle 
was  not  begun  till  a  little  past  eleven.  Both  sides 
fought  desperately.  BlUcher,  a  few  miles  to  the  right  of 
Wellington,  at  \Vavre,  had  pronused  to  join  him.  Ka})0- 
leon  had  told  Marshal  Grouchy  to  follow  the  Prussians 
and  thus  prevent  their  union  with  the  English.  He 
started  too  late  for  "Wavre ;  he  did  not  take  the  advice 
of  some  of  his  officers  to  hasten  to  Napoleon  when  they 
heard  the  sound  of  battle,  and  his  33,000  men  failed  to 
help  at  Waterloo.  Hopes  gives  an  interesting  account 
of  this  in  the  Atlantic  Montldy,  June,  IScSl,  "  Who  lost 
Waterloo  ?  " 

All  day  long  tlie  battle  raged.  Hand  to  hand  combats 
were  constant.  The  battle  seemed  in  favor  of  the 
French.  Meantime  Blticlier  was  coming  from  Wavre, 
with  his  guns  sinking  axle-deep  in  the  mud.  ''  AVe  shall 
never  get  on,"  was  heard  on  all  sides.  "  We  must  get 
on,'''  said  the  bluff  Blttcher  ;  "  I  have  given  my  word  to 
Wellington." 

Napoleon  kept  watching  for  Grouchy.  Early  in  the 
afternoon  alwmt  30,000  Prussians  under  Bulow  liad  come 
to  Wellington's  assistance.  Night  came  on  and  the  tir- 
ing of  musketry  was  heard.  "  There's  Grouchy ! "  said 
the  Emperor.  His  aide-de-camp,  Labedoyere,  rushed  to 
announce  it  to  the  army.  "  Marshal  Grouchy  is  arriving, 
the  Guard  is  goiug  to  charge.  Courage  !  courage  !  'tis  all 
over  with  the  Euglisli." 

"  One  last  shout  of  hop(^  l)urst  from  every  rank,"  .says 
M.  Fleury  de  Cliaboulon,  ex-secretary  of  tlie  Em])eror ; 
"  the  wounded  who  were  still  capable  of  taking  a  few 
steps  returned  to  the  combat,  and  thousands  of  voices 
eagerly  repeated.  Forward !  forward  ! " 

It  was  not  Grouchy,  but  BlUcher  with  thirty  or  forty 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  77 

thousand  fresh  troops.  The  Im})erial  Guard  did  indeed 
charge  with  all  theif  wonted  impetuosity.  They  were 
mowed  down  like  grain.  Ney,  with  five  horses  siiot 
under  him,  marched  on  foot  with  his  drawn  sword. 
Napoleon  watc^hed  them,  pale,  yet  calm.  "  All  is  lost !  " 
said  he,  "  the  Guard  recoils  ! " 

The  Emperor  was  everywhere  in  the  battle.  "])eath 
shuns  you.  You  will  be  made  a  })risoner,"  said  his 
generals,  and  an  officer  seized  tlie  bridle  of  his  horse  and 
dragged  him  away. 

The  French  were  completely  overcome,  and  tlie  Prus- 
sians pursued  them  with  great  vigor.  It  is  estimated  that 
the  Frencli  lost  thirty  thousand  on  the  held  of  Waterloo, 
and  the  loss  of  the  allies  was  probably  not  much  less.  It 
was  one  of  the  most  bloody  battles  of  nuxlern  times. 

Najjoleon  returned  to  I'aris,  and  then  retired  to  Mal- 
maison.  He  abdicated  in  favor  of  his  son,  Najjoleon  II. ; 
but  the  allies,  when  they  captured  Paris  a  second  tinu^, 
July  7,  1815,  ])laced  Louis  XVIII.  again  on  the  throne. 

Napoleon  repaired  to  liochefort  with  the  hope  that  he 
might  embark  for  America,  but  the  coast  was  so  block- 
aded by  the  English  steamers  that  this  was  impossible. 
He  surrendered  himself  to  go  on  board  tlie  English  ship, 
l>ellerophon,  July  la,  with  tlu^  hope  that  he  should  lind 
a  generous  foe.  He  soon  learned,  to  his  inexpressible 
grief,  that  he  was  destined  for  St.  Helena.  On  Aug.  7 
he  was  transferred  to  tlie  Northumberland,  and  sailed 
for  his  lonely  place  of  exile,  which  he  reached  Oct.  1(5, 
1815. 

The  Island  of  St.  Helena,  ten  miles  broad  and  seven 
long,  is  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  foui-teen  Inmdred  mih^s 
W(!st  of  the  west  coast  of  Soutli  Africa.  It  is  com]iose(l 
of  rugged  niountains  of  volcanic;  origin,  with  little  vege- 


78  NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

tation.  Wherever  a  vessel  could  approach  a  fort  was 
planted,  so  that  the  island  formed  a*  complete  prison. 

Lieutenant  John  R.  Glover,  who  accompanied  the  Brit- 
ish admiral  who  took  Napoleon  to  St.  Helena,  said  of 
the  island  (Ceiituri/,  for  November,  189.3)  :  "  Nothing  can 
l»ossihly  be  less  prepossessing,  nay,  more  horribly  for- 
bidding, than  the  first  appearance  of  this  isolated  and 
a]>par('ntly  burnt  up  barren  rock,  which  promises  neither 
refreshment  nor  pleasure.  .  ,  .  During  our  eight  months' 
residence  we  exj)erienced  little  variation,  and  had  con- 
tinued rains.  The  climate  is  by  no  means  healthy,  .  .  . 
the  children  being  sickly,  and  the  adults  suffering  from 
the  liver,  of  which  C()mi)laint  many  of  our  men  died." 

Here  Napoleon  lived  for  six  years,  till  his  death.  May 
5, 1821,  at  the  age  of  fifty-two,  of  a  cancer  in  the  stomach, 
the  same  disease  which  had  killed  his  father.  He  was 
allowed  to  take  with  him  to  St.  Helena  three  of  his 
generals  and  their  families,  and  a  secretary,  Las  Cases. 

His  jailer,  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  seems  to  have  been  a 
most  unfortunate  choice  in  the  surveillance  of  a  high- 
spirited  and  remarkable  man. 

Napoleon  was  allowed  to  walk  or  ride  only  within  cer- 
tain limits,  with  a  British  officer  near  at  hand.  His 
accommodati(ms  were  poor  and  plain.  "  The  rats,"  says 
Dr.  O'Meara, ''  are  in  numbers  almost  incredible.  I  have 
fre(]U('ntly  seen  them  assemble  like  broods  of  chickens 
round  tlie  offal  thrown  out  of  tlie  kitclien."  Besides  he 
says,  through  the  roof  "  the  rain  entered  in  torrents." 
NajMjleon's  letters  were  all  0{)ened,  both  those  sent  or  re- 
ceived. He  was  never  addressed  as  Emperor,  England 
ungenerously  insisting  that  he  be  called  simply  General 
Bonaparte.  Books  addressed  to  "  The  Enqieror"  were  not 
delivered  to  him.     William  O'Connor  Morris  says :  "  His 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  79 

humiliation  Avas  degrading  and  needless.  .  .  .  Admit- 
ting that  the  allies  had  a  right  to  deprive  him  of  liberty, 
they  had  no  right  to  subject  him  to  insult  and  wrong ; 
and  St.  Helena  is  a  blot  on  tlie  fair  fame  of  Eng- 
land." From  his  idolized  son  he  was  not  permitted  to 
hear. 

He  said  to  Countess  Montholon,  at  St.  Helena,  "  On 
receiving  into  my  arms  that  infant,  so  many  times  fer- 
vently implored  of  Pleaven,  could  I  have  believed  that 
one  day  he  would  have  become  the  source  of  my  greatest 
anguish  ?  Yes,  madame,  every  day  he  costs  me  tears  of 
blood.  I  imagine  to  myself  the  most  horrid  events, 
which  I  cannot  remove  from  my  mind.  I  see  either  the 
potion  or  the  empoisoned  fruit  which  is  about  to  termi- 
nate the  days  of  that  young  innocent  by  tlie  most  cruel 
sufferings." 

The  boy  worshipped  his  fathei'.  "  Tell  him,"  said  the 
little  King  of  Kome,  then  four  years  old,  when  Meneval, 
Napoleon's  former  secretary,  left  Marie  Louise  in  Austria, 
"that  I  love  him  dearly."  He  looked  like  his  father, 
had  his  ambition,  and,  as  he  grew  to  manhood,  longed  to 
return  to  France.  Wlien  Charles  X.  was  overthrown  in 
l<So(),  he  said,  "  Why  was  I  not  there  to  take  my 
chan(!e  ?  "  He  was  tlicn  nineteen.  Napoleon  had  fore- 
seen the  fall  of  the  IJourlxms,  as  h(^  said  at  St.  Helena, 
"They  will  not  maintain  their  position  after  my  death; 
a  reaction  in  my  favor  will  take  place  everywhere,  even 
in  England." 

Napoleon  11.  died  at  Vienna,  July  22,  1832,  at  the  age 
of  twenty -one,  of  consumi)tion,  at  Sclionbrunn,  tlie  sum- 
mer home  of  the  Em})eror.  H(^  expired  upon  the  same 
narrow  V)ed  on  wliich  his  fatlier  slejjt  wlien  lie  came 
as  the  concpieror  of  Austria.     (Jcnei-al  Hartiuann   said, 


80  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

"  Having  i)assed  my  life  on   battle-fields,  I   have  often  • 
seen  death,  but  1  never  saw  a  soldier  die  more  bravely." 

When  near  death,  Napoleon  II.  said,  "So  young,  and 
is  there  no  remedy  ?  My  birth  and  my  death  will  be 
the  only  points  of  remembranee."  He  lies  buried  in  the 
plain  Church  of  the  Capucines,  beside  his  mother.  His 
heart  is  in  a  small  silver  urn  in  St.  Augustine's  Church. 

For  six  years  Na{)oleon  lived  in  this  j)rison  at  St.  He- 
lena, dictating  his  memoirs  and  commentaries  to  Count 
Montholon,  Baron  Gourgaud,  and  Count  I>as  Cases.  His 
health  failed  rapidly  after  the  first  year.  Not  taking 
exercise,  on  account  of  the  constant  espionage,  he  was 
finally  prevailed  upon  by  the  physician  to  work  a  little 
in  a  garden,  which  he  found  a  relief. 

At  the  end  of  a  year,  Las  Cases  was  banished  with  his 
son  to  England,  because  he  had  forwarded  a  letter  to  Lady 
Clavering,  telling  liow  badly  the  Emperor  was  treated, 
and  it  had  not  passed  through  the  hands  of  Sir  Hudson 
Lowe.  This  was  a  great  blow  to  Napoleon,  as  he  was  the 
only  one  who  could  read,  sjieak,  and  understand  English. 
Dr.  O'Meara  was  also  obliged  to  leave  St.  Helena  on 
account  of  Sir  Hudson  Lowe's  treatment  of  him. 

After  some  months  of  illness,  the  friends  of  Napoleon 
were  jjcrmitted  to  send  Dr.  Antomnuirchi,  a  (Jorsican,  to 
him.  In  the  sj)ring  of  LS21,  Najjoleon  grew  feeble  and 
emaciated.  He  made  his  will,  remembering  his  friends 
most  generously.  Ai)ril  22,  from  i)erspiration  on  account 
of  his  great  pain,  Count  Montholon  writes,  "  On  this 
night  I  changed  the  Emperor's  linen  seven  times."  April 
25,  as  Montholon  watched  by  his  bedside,  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  Napolecm  exclaimed,  "  I  have  just  seen 
my  good  Josephine,  but  she  would  not  embrace  me.  She 
disappeared  at  the  moment  when  1  was  about  to  take  her 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  81 

in  my  arms.  She  was  seated  there.  .  .  .  She  is  not 
changed.  She  is  still  the  same,  full  of  devotion  to  me. 
She  told  me  that  we  were  about  to  see  each  other  again, 
never  more  to  part.     Did  you  see  her  ?  " 

Three  days  later  he  gave  directions  about  his  death, 
asking  that  his  heart  might  be  put  in  spirits  of  wine,  and 
carried  to  Parma,  to  Marie  Louise.  "  You  will  tell  her 
that  I  tenderly  loved  her,"  he  said,  "  that  I  never  ceased 
to  love  her."   . 

Five  days  before  his  death  he  dictated  for  two  hours 
his  desires  about  the  Palace  of  Versailles,  and  the  organ- 
ization of  the  National  Guard  for  the  defence  of  Paris. 
To  the  last  he  carried  out  his  chosen  motto,  "Everything 
for  the  French  people." 

He  remembered  his  servants,  and  wished  to  see  them 
and  say  good-by.  ( )ne  of  them  exclaimed  excitedly,  "  I 
will  die  for  him." 

May  2  the  Emperor  was  delirious,  and,  thinking  he 
was  with  his  army,  shouted,  "  Desaix  !  Massena!  Ah  ! 
victory  is  declaring.  Run  !  hasten  !  i)ress  the  charge ! 
They  are  ours !  "  He  sprang  from  the  bed  and  fell  jn-os- 
trate  upon  the  floor. 

On  the  night  of  May  4  a  tornado  swept  the  island, 
ui)rooting  the  trees  which  the  Emperor  had  })lanted. 
])uring  the  night,  says  Count  Montholon,  "Twice  I 
thought  I  distinguished  the  luiconnectod  words,  '  France 
—  ormee,  tefe  (Vdrmee  (head  of  the  army)  —  Josephine.'  " 

During  the  whole  of  ^lay  T)  he  lay  quiet  and  ])e;iceful, 
conscious,  his  right  hand  out  of  bed,  seemingly  absorbed 
in  deep  meditation.  At  eleven  minutes  before  six  o'clock 
he  died. 

England  would  not  permit  his  body  to  be  embalmed  or 
to  be  carried  to  France,  as  he  had  retpiested,  or  his  heart 


82  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

to  be  given  to  Marie  Louise ;  so,  at  half -past  twelve,  on 
May  8,  he  was  buried  under  some  willows  at  St.  Helena. 
The  English  garrison,  two  thousand  five  hundred  strong, 
which  had  been  on  the  island  to  keep  Napoleon  from 
escaping,  now  followed  his  body  to  the  grave.  Tliree 
volleys  of  fifteini  guns  each  were  fired  over  it.  'I'lie 
soldiers  had  unbounded  admiration  for  the  uni-ivalled 
leader,  and  begged  to  kiss  the  blue  cloak  wliicli  he  wore 
at  Marengo,  and  which  was  thrown  over  the  coffin. 

"  We  were  not  allowed,"  says  Dr.  Antommarchi,  "  to 
place  over  the  grave  either  a  stone  or  a  modest  inscri})- 
tion,  the  governor  [Sir  Hudson  Lowe]  opposing  this  pious 
wish." 

The  Emperor  had  written  in  his  will,  "  It  is  my  wisli 
that  my  ashes  may  repose  on  the  banks  of  tlie  Seine,  in 
the  midst  of  the  French  people,  whom  1  have  loved  so 
well." 

On  May  5,  1840,  nineteen  years  after  Napoleon's  death, 
the  French,  now  that  Louis  Philii)pe  had  become  king, 
asked  England  that  his  body  might  be  removed  to 
France.  Consent  being  given,  Prince  de  Joinville,  the 
son  of  the  king,  with  Gourgaud,  IJertrand,  and  tlie  son 
of  Las  Cases,  with  two  armed  ships,  proceeded  on  their 
sad  errand,  bearing  an  ebony  coffin,  witli  the  one  word, 
"  Napoleon,"  on  it  in  gold  letters.  AVithin  was  a  coffin 
of  lead.  The  funeral  pall  was  of  purple  velvet,  embroi- 
dered witli  bees,  and  bordered  with  ermine. 

At  midnight,  Oct.  5,  1840,  the  Avork  of  exhuming  the 
body  of  the  Emperor  was  begun.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon  the  coffin  was  reached,  so  difficult  had  it  been  to 
remove  the  heavy  stones  and  cement  wliicli  covered  the 
vault.  The  first  coffin  of  mahogany  was  o])ened,  then 
the  leaden  one,  then  one  of  maliogany,  then  one  of  tin. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  83 

The  body  was  found  wonderfully  preserved,  and  seemed 
as  though  recently  interred.  The  hands  were  perfect, 
with  the  smooth  skin  as  if  in  life.  The  clothes  retained 
their  color, — the  dark  green  coat  faced  with  red,  the 
white  pantaloons,  and  the  hat,  resting  on  the  tliigh.  Tlie 
body  was  exposed  to  the  air  only  two  minut(^s;  the  cof- 
fins were  re-sealed  and  placed  in  those  brought  from 
France. 

The  ships  reached  France  early  in  December.  Never 
was  there  such  a  funeral  in  Paris.  One  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  soldiers  and  more  than  a  million  citizens 
assisted  at  the  magnificent  obsequies.  The  funeral  car, 
its  cenotaph  rising  fifty  feet  from  the  ground,  was  drawn 
by  sixteen  black  horses,  four  abreast,  covered  witli  cloth 
of  gold.  The  Emperor's  war-horse  was  draped  with  a 
veil  of  purple  crape,  embroidered  with  bees.  The  rem- 
nants of  the  Old  Guard  were  there  —  the  hosts  who 
idtdized  Napoleon  and  would  have  died  for  him  ;  but  the 
son,  the  King  of  Rome,  was  sleeping  in  a  coffin  in  Aus- 
tria, and  Josephine  was  resting  in  the  church  at  Rueil, 
two  miles  from  Malnuiison. 

At  the  funeral  service  tliree  hundred  musiciaiis  played 
Mozart's  Requit'm  in  the  (Hiurch  of  the  Invalides,  wliere 
now  the  great  hero  rests.  Tlie  se(>mingly  countless  tlirong 
of  people  were  moved  to  tears.  (jould  lie  who  was  its 
object  have  looked  forward  to  all  this  love  and  homage, 
when  he  lay  dying  among  the  rocks  of  St.  Helena,  the 
agony  might  have  been  lessened.  Could  he  have  fore- 
seen how  tens  of  thousands,  every  year,  from  all  the 
world,  would  stand  by  that  tomb,  under  the  dome  of  the 
Tnvalides,  and  do  honor  to  the  wonderful  soldier  and 
statesman,  tliat  bitter  exile  and  deatli  might  not  have 
been  quite  so  desolate  and  i)atlietic. 


84  NAPOLEON  liONAPAttTK 

"  Posterity,"  as  he  said,  "  will  do  him  justice."  Already 
the  harshness  of  his  critics  is  giving  place  to  a  correct 
estimate  of  his  extraordinary  genius. 

'*  I  have  formed  and  carried  into  effect,"  he  said  to  Dr. 
O'Meara,  "  a  code  of  laws  tliat  will  bear  my  name  to  the 
nn^st  distant  posterity.  From  nothing  I  raised  myself  to 
be  the  most  powerful  monarch  of  the  woi-ld." 

Napier  thought  Najwleou  "the  greatest  man  of  whom 
history  makes  mention."  "  Never,"  says  Alison,  "  were 
talents  of  the  highest,  genius  of  the  most  exalted  kind, 
more  profusely  bestowed  upon  a  human  being." 

Napoleon  worked  incessantly.  He  saved  every  mo- 
ment. He  believed  in  himself.  He  had  great  courage, 
will,  and  energy.  He  said  to  Las  Cases  that  he  liked 
tu'o-o''clorjc-in-the-inornhifj  courage^  which  he  had  rarely 
met.  "I  mean,"  he  said,  "unprepared  courage;  that 
which  is  necessary  on  an  unexpected  occasion,  and 
which,  in  spite  of  the  most  unforeseen  events,  leaves  full 
freed(mi  of  judgment  and  decision." 

Na])oleon  had  this  courage.  Three  horses  were  killed 
under  him  at  Tovdon,  several  in  Italy,  and  three  or  four 
at  the  siege  of  Saint  Jean  d'Acre.  When  his  body  was 
prepared  for  burial,  it  was  found  that  there  were  several 
scars  upon  it,  some  slight,  and  three  very  distinct. 

He  hated  selHshness.  Madame  la  Generale  Durant, 
first  lady  to  the  Emjjress  Marie  Louise,  relates  in  her 
book,  "Napoleon  and  Marie  Louise,"  that  once,  when 
Marie  Louise  said  everybody  was  selfish,  and  that  she 
was  also,  he  replied,  "  Don't  say,  my  Louise,  that  you 
are  selfish ;  I  know  no  mon^  hideous  vice." 

He  had  great  dignity  combined  with  kindliness.  After 
a  ball,  during  which  he  conversed  with  Goethe,  he  wrote 
Josephine :    "  I  have  attended  a  ball  in  Weimar.     The 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  85 

Emperor  Alexander  danced.  But  I  ?  No !  Forty  years 
are  forty  years." 

"He  had  a  directness  of  action,"  says  Emerson,  "  never 
before  combined  Avitli  so  much  comprehension.  .  .  .  Here 
Avas  a  man  Avho,  in  each  moment  and  emergency,  knew 
what  to  do  next.  .  .  .  Few  men  have  any  next;  they 
live  from  hand  to  mouth,  without  plan,  and  are  ever  at 
the  end  of  their  line,  and,  after  each  action,  wait  for  an 
impulse  from  abroad.  Napoleon  had  been  the  lirst  man 
of  the  world,  if  his  ends  had  been  purely  public.  .  .  . 

**  We  cannot,  in  the  universal  imbecility,  indecision, 
and  indolence  of  men,  sufficiently  congratulate  ourselves 
on  tliis  strong  ami  ready  actor,  who  took  occasion  by  the 
beard,  and  showed  us  how  much  may  be  accomplished  by 
the  mere  force  of  such  virtues  as  all  men  possess  in  less 
degrees  ;  namely,  by  punctuality,  by  ^lersonal  attention, 
by  courage  and  thoroughness." 

While  indomitable  in  battle,  he  was,  says  General 
Gourgaud,  ''of  all  generals,  whether  ancient  or  modern, 
the  one  Avho  has  paid  tlie  greatest  attention  to  tlie 
wounded.  The  intoxication  of  victory  never  could  make 
him  forget  them.  His  first  thouglit  after  every  battle 
was  always  of  them." 

Count  Segur  relates  that,  after  tlie  battle  of  Borodino, 
when  Napoleon  and  liis  escort  were  going  over  tlie  field, 
a  liorse  stepped  on  a  dying  man.  who  expired  with  a 
groan.  Napoleon  uttered  a  shriek  of  i)ain.  Some  one, 
to  soothe  him,  said,  ''  It  was  only  a  Kussian."  With 
iiuu^i  warmth.  Napoleon  replied,  *'  After  victory  there 
are  no  enemies,  but  only  men." 

His  despatch  Avas  marvellous.  He  was  generous,  and 
never  forgot  the  i)Oorest  who  needed  his  kindness.  He 
was  ambitious ;  but  Europe,  fearing  him,  forced  him  into 


86  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE. 

many  of  his  wars.  He  knew  how  to  govern  himself  as 
well  as  otliers.  He  said  of  Lannes,  one  of  his  generals 
who  lost  his  tempei',  that  a  man  could  not  be  great  who 
permitted  himself  to  get  angry.  The  officer  heard  of 
this  remark,  and  ever  after  controlled  his  temper. 

Napoleon  Avas  more  moral  than  his  age.  He  loved 
children  and  nature.  "  How  many  times,"  says  Bour- 
rienne,  as  they  walked  toward  llueil  from  Malmaison, 
"  has  the  bell  of  the  village  church  interrupted  our 
most  serious  conversations !  He  would  stop,  lest  the 
noise  of  our  footsteps  should  drown  any  portion  of  the 
delightful  sound." 

He  believed,  in  an  age  of  unbelief.  He  said  to  Ber- 
trand  at  St.  Helena,  "  I  know  men,  and  I  tell  you  that 
Jesus  Christ  is  not  a  man.  .  .  .  Everything  in  him  as- 
tonishes me.  His  spirit  overawes  me,  and  his  will  con- 
founds me.  Between  him  and  whoever  else  in  the  world 
there  is  no  possible  term  of  comparison." 

Napoleon  compared  the  reign  of  Christ  with  that  of 
Caesar,  Alexander,  Hannibal,  and  of  himself ;  "  My  armies 
have  forgotten  me,  even  while  living,  as  the  Carthagin- 
ian army  forgot  Hannibal.  Such  is  our  i)ower !  A 
single  battle  lost  crushes  us,  and  adversity  scatters  o\ir 
friends.  .  .  .  Wliat  an  aV)yss  between  my  deep  misery 
and  tlie  eternal  reign  of  Christ,  which  is  proclaimed, 
loved,  adored,  and  which  is  extended  over  all  the  earth  ! 
Is  this  to  die?  Is  it  not  rather  to  live?  The  deatli  of 
Clirist !     It  is  tlie  death  of  God." 

The  life  of  Napoleon,  truly  called  **the  Great,"  is  more 
interesting  and  pathetic  than  any  novel.  It  will  always 
remain  one  of  the  marvels  of  the  world. 


LORD  NELSON. 


HORATIO   NELSON. 


It  is  a  significant  fact  that  the  life  of  a  leader  is  never 
an  easy  one.  Nelson's  life  was  one  of  struggle  from 
beginning  to  end  ;  a  battle  with  poverty,  lack  of  appreci- 
ation ofttimes  by  his  country,  nuich  ill-health,  domestic 
disquietude,  and  inany  hardships.  He  died  at  forty- 
seven,  the  greatest  naval  hero  of  the  age. 

Horatio  Nelson,  the  son  of  a  country  rector,  the  llev. 
Edmund  Nelson,  was  born  Sept.  29,  1758,  at  Burnham 
Thorpe,  Norfolk,  England.  The  mother,  Catherine,  Avas 
descended  from  a  good  family,  her  grandmother  being 
an  elder  sister  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  Earl  of  Oxford. 
Catherine  died  when  her  little  son,  Horatio,  was  nine 
years  old,  leaving  eight  out  of  eleven  children  to  mourn 
their  cai)able  mother.  Nelson  said  of  her  later,  just  a 
short  time  before  he  died,  "  The  tliought  of  former  days 
brings  all  my  mother  into  my  heart,  which  shows  itself 
in  my  eyes." 

The  boy  Nelson  was  fearless  and  ambitious.  It  is 
related  of  him  that,  straying  away  from  tlie  house  when 
a  mere  child,  his  grandmother  thought  Ik;  had  been 
carried  off  by  gy]>sies.  AVhen  found  sitting  beside  a 
brook  Avhich  he  could  not  cross,  th(!  old  lady  said,  "  T 
wonder,  child,  that  hunger  and  fear  did  not  drive  you 
home." 

*'  Fear,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  never  saw  fear ;  what  is  it  ?  " 
87 


88  UORATIO  NELSON. 

At  another  time,  some  pears  were  wanted  from  the 
schoolmaster's  garden.  Without  debating  the  question 
of  the  sin  of  stealing,  nobody  dared  venture  for  fear  of 
the  conse(]uencc's.  Horatio  volunteered  to  get  them,  was 
lowered  at  night  by  a  sheet  from  his  window,  gathered 
the  pears,  and  gave  them  to  his  mates,  keeping  none  for 
himself.  "  I  only  took  them,"  he  said,  "  because  every 
other  boy  was  afraid." 

His  father  was  poor,  always  in  frail  health,  and  appar- 
ently unable  to  do  much  for  his  numerous  progeny. 
Horatio  determined  to  do  something  for  himself.  Seeing 
in  the  newspai)er  that  his  uncle  on  his  mother's  side, 
Captain  Maurice  Suckling,  had  been  appointed  in  the 
navy  to  the  ship  Raisonnable,  of  sixty-four  guns,  Horatio 
said  to  his  brother,  a  year  and  a  half  older  than  him- 
self, "  Do,  William,  write  to  my  father,  and  tell  him 
that  I  should  like  to  go  to  sea  with  Uncle  Maurice." 

Mr.  Nelson  was  at  Bath  for  his  health.  He  at  once 
wrote  to  the  captain  about  his  twelve-year-old  son,  who 
was  as  sickly  in  body  as  himself.  The  uncle  wrote  back, 
"  What  has  poor  Horatio  done,  who  is  so  weak,  that  he, 
al)Ove  all  the  rest,  should  be  sent  to  rough  it  out  at  sea  ? 
But  let  him  come,  and  the  first  time  we  go  into  action,  a 
cannon-ball  may  knock  off  his  head,  and  provide  for  him 
at  once." 

His  father  took  him  to  London,  from  whence  he  found 
his  way  to  Chatliam,  where  tlie  ship  was  lying.  His 
uncle  was  absent  at  the  time,  and  the  first  few  days 
were  lonely  in  the  extreme.  The  sailors  were  rough, 
their  treatment  by  officers  often  harsli,  not  to  say  cruel, 
and  the  lad  who  had  so  yearned  for  the  sea  soon  came  to 
despise  the  Koyal  Navy. 

He  soon  went  on  a  West  Indian  voyage,  in  a  small 


HORATIO    NELSON.  89 

merchant  ship  commanded  by  Mr.  Jolin  Rathbone,  who 
had  served  as  master's  mate  under  Captain  Suckling. 
Here,  with  keen  observation,  and  a  constant  desire  to 
rise  in  his  profession,  he  learned  rapidly. 

Later,  young  Nelson  went  as  coxswain  under  Captain 
Lutwidge  in  the  Carcass  on  a  Polar  voyage.  They  were 
beset  by  the  ice;  left  their  ships,  expecting  they  would 
be  crushed,  and  dragged  their  boats  by  hand;  had  the 
usual  fights  with  walruses  and  bears.  Nelson  exposing 
himself  in  an  encounter  with  the  latter,  that  he  might 
carry  a  skin  home  to  his  father. 

Nelson's  next  voyage,  at  fifteen,  was  in  the  Seahorse,  of 
twenty  guns,  to  the  East  Indies  in  a  squadron  under 
Sir  Edward  Hughes.  He  was  stationed  at  the  foretop 
at  watch  and  watch,  where  his  attention  to  duty  soon 
made  him  a  midshipman. 

After  eighteen  months  in  tliis  debilitating  climate, 
he  became  dangeronsly  ill,  and  was  sent  home  in  the 
Dolphin  in  1776.  The  youth  of  sixteen  became  very 
despondent.  "  I  felt  impressed,"  he  says,  "  witli  an 
idea  that  I  should  never  rise  in  my  profession.  My 
mind  was  staggered  with  a  view  of  the  'difficulties  I  had 
to  surmount,  and  the  little  interest  I  possessed.  I  could 
discover  no  means  of  reaching  the  object  of  my  ambi- 
tion. After  a  long  and  gloomy  re  very,  in  which  I 
almost  wished  myself  overboard,  a  sudden  flow  of  ])atri- 
otism  was  kindled  within  me  and  presented  my  king  and 
country  as  my  patrons.  My  mind  exulted  in  the  idea. 
'  Well,  then,'  I  exclaimed,  '  I  will  be  a  liero,  and.  confid- 
ing in  Providence,  I  will  brave  every  danger.' " 

From  that  time  he  often  told  his  friend  Hardy,  "  a 
radiant  orb  was  suspended  in  his  mind's  eye,  which 
urged  him  onward  to  renown." 


90  IIOUATIO   NELSON. 

Captain  Suckling  had  now  becMUue  coini)tn)ller  of  the 
navy ;  and  as  soou  as  Xelsou  was  recovered,  through  liis 
uncle's  influence,  he  was  made  fourth  lieutenant  of  the 
Worcester,  a  ship  of  sixty-four  guns,  commanded  by 
Mark  Robinson,  going  out  to  Gibraltar.  At  nineteen  he 
I)assed  an  excellent  examination  in  naval  matters,  and 
was  made  second  litnitenant  on  the  Lowestoffe,  of  thirty- 
two  guns,  under  Captain  William  Locker,  then  fitting  out 
for  the  West  Indies.  The  vessel  arrived  at  Carlisle  Bay, 
Barbadoes,  July  4,  1777. 

Nelson  soon  showed  his  usual  bravery.  An  American 
letter-of-mai-que  was  captured.  The  first  lieutenant  was 
ordered  to  board  her ;  but,  unable  to  reach  her  by  reason 
of  the  high  sea,  Nelson  volunteered,  and  though  his 
boat  swept  over  the  deck  of  the  American  privateer,  he 
finally  got  aboard,  and  made  her  his  j)rize. 

Soon  after  Nelson  was  appointed  third  lieutenant  of 
the  flag-ship  Bristol,  and  in  1779  commander  of  the 
Badger,  protecting  the  iVIosquito  Coast  and  the  Bay  of 
Honduras  from  the  privateers.  Many  French  merchant- 
men were  captured. 

During  these  years  from  1777  to  1780,  the  skirmishes 
with  the  Spaniards  and  French,  though  marked  with 
greiit  energy  and  bravery  on  the  ])art  <,)f  Nelson,  were 
ruinous  to  him  and  his  men.  Hundreds  of  the  latter 
died  from  the  malaria  of  the  climate,  or  were  poisoned 
by  the  bites  of  serpents.  Nelson  himself,  more  dead 
than  alive,  was  carried  back  to  England,  and  for  many 
months  remained  at  liath,  endeavoring  to  regain  his 
health. 

Fretting  at  his  inactive  life,  he  applied  for  a  position 
which  was  not  granted  for  some  months ;  and  then  he 
was  sent,  much  against  his  will,  to  the  bleak  North  Sea 


HORATIO  NELSON.  91 

to  protect  the  home  trade.  Here  he  spent  a  Avinter  in 
discomfort,  but  lie  learned  many  things  which  were  of 
inestimable  value  in  one  of  his  great  battles  afterwards. 

In  1782  he  sailed  in  his  ship,  the  Albemarle,  for  New- 
foundland and  Quebec,  and  while  cruising  along  the 
coast,  captured  the  Harmony,  a  schooner  which  belonged 
to  a  fisherman  by  the  name  of  Carver.  Nelson  em- 
ployed him  as  a  pilot  in  Boston  Harbor,  and  then 
restored  him  the  schooner  and  cargo,  giving  him  a  cer- 
tificate so  that  no  other  vessel  should  capture  him. 
This  certificate  was  framed,  and  hung  in  the  house  of 
Isaac  Davis  of  Boston.  Carver  was  so  grateful  to 
Nelson  that  he  came  afterwards  to  the  Albemarle, 
at  the  hazard  of  his  life,  bringing  a  present  of  sheep, 
poultry,  and  fresh  provisions.  The  scurvy  Avas  raging 
on  board,  and  the  ship's  company  had  not  enjoyed  a 
fresh  meal  for  fiv.e  months,  so  that  Carver's  present  was 
most  acceptable. 

AYhile  at  Quebec  in  1782,  when  he  was  twenty-four. 
Nelson  fell  in  love  with  an  American  lady,  whom  he 
much  desired  to  marry,  but  was  prevented  by  the  de- 
cision of  his  friend  Alexander  Davison,  who  hurried  him 
off  to  sea. 

In  October  of  this  same  year,  1782,  Nelson  sailed  for 
New  York,  where  he  found  the  Barfleur  with  tAvelve  sail- 
of-the-line  under  command  of  Lord  Hood.  The  latter 
introduced  him  to  Prince  William  Henry,  Duke  of  Clar- 
ence, afterwards  "William  IV.  The  duke  Avas  greatly 
pleased  Avitli  tlic  boyish-looking  ca[)tain,  dressed  in  his 
full  laced  uniform,  Avith  liis  hair  tied  in  a  stiif  Hessian 
tail  of  an  extraordinary  length.  The  duke  says  of  his 
quaint  figure,  "  I  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before, 
nor  could  I  imagine  Avho  he  Avas  nor  Avhat  he  came  about. 


92  HORATIO  NELSON. 

But  his  address  and  conversation  were  irresistibly  pleas- 
ing; and  when  he  sj)oke  on  professional  subjects,  it  was 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  showed  me  he  was  no  common 
being." 

Under  Lord  Hood,  Nelson  sailed  to  the  West  Indies, 
and  remained  there  till  January,  1783,  when  peace  with 
France  was  concluded. 

"1  have  closed  the  war,"  said  Nelson,  "without  a 
fortune ;  but  there  is  not  a  si)eck  in  my  character.  True 
honor,  I  hope,  predominates  iu  luy  mind  far  above 
riches." 

On  July  11  Nelson  was  presented  at  court,  and  re- 
ceived much  attention  from  the  king,  perhaps  on  account 
of  the  good  words  of  Prince  William,  his  son,  for  the 
sailor.  The  young  man  of  twenty-live  had  not  particu- 
larly distinguished  himself  as  yet,  but  he  had  improved 
every  opportunity  of  making  himself  familiar  with  naval 
matters.  He  Avould  be  ready  for  the  great  opportunity 
if  it  ever  came. 

As  he  was  now  on  half-pay,  he  dejbermined  to  go  to 
France  for  a  time  to  study  the  French  language.  Here 
he  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Andrews,  one  of  the  tliree 
daughters  of  an  English  clergyman.  As  his  income 
was  only  AJl.'iO  a  year,  he  wrote  his  uncle,  William 
Suckling,  asking  that  he  might  be  allowed  db'lOO  a  year 
in  addition,  that  he  might  be  able  to  marry.  This  re- 
quest was  granted;  but  Miss  Andrews  perhaps  did  not 
give  her  consent,  or  Nelson  thought  that  ^'230  woidd 
not  support  a  wife  iu  much  luxury,  for  she  afterwards 
married  a  clergyman  by  the  name  of  Farrer,  and  later 
Colonel  Warne.  Nelson  evidently  admired  her  greatly  ; 
for  he  wrote  to  his  brother  William,  "  She  has  such 
accomplishments,  that,  had  1  a  million  of  money,  I  am 


UORATIO  NELSON.  93 

sure  I  should  at  this  momeut  make  her  an  offer  of 
them." 

In  the  spring  of  1784  he  was  appointed  to  the  Boreas, 
of  twenty -eight  guns,  and  sailed  for  the  Leeward  Islands, 
taking  with  him  Lady  Hughes  and  her  family  to  her 
husband.  Sir  Richard,  who  was  in  command  at  that 
station. 

There  were  about  thirty  midshipmen  on  board,  and  to 
all  Nelson  was  extremely  kind  and  sympathetic.  When 
a  boy  was  at  first  afraid  to  go  up  the  masts,  Nelson 
would  say,  "  I  am  going  a  race  to  the  masthead,  and  beg 
that  I  may  meet  you  there."  When  they  met  at  the 
top,  Nelson  would  speak  clieerfully  and  say,  "  How 
much  any  person  was  to  be  pitied  who  could  fancy  there 
was  any  danger,  or  even  anytliing  disagreeable,  in  the 
attempt." 

He  was  always  the  first  to  arrive  on  deck  with  his 
quadrant  at  noon.  AVhen  he  made  visits  of  cerenuiny 
he  always  took  some  of  his  lads  with  liim.  When  lie 
went  to  dine  with  the  governor  of  Harbadoes,  lie  said, 
"Your  Excellency  must  excuse  me  for  bringing  one  of 
my  midshipmen.  I  make  it  a  rule  to  introduce  tliem  to 
all  the  good  company  I  can,  as  tliey  have  few  to  look  up 
to  besides  myself  during  the  time  they  are  at  sea." 

Through  life  Nelson  showed  tliis  same  thoughtfulness 
and  tenderness  for  his  men.  He  never  lo.st  the  sensi- 
tiveness of  his  childhood,  whicli  made  liim  cry  bitterly 
when  lie  liad  hurt  a  pet  lamb  in  a  slioemaker's  shop,  by 
accidentally  o])<Miing  a  door  against  it.  He  was  always 
op])os(Ml  to  harsh  discipline,  and  ruled  by  love  ratlier 
than  by  fear.  No  wonder  it  was  said  of  liim,  when 
other  great  men  were  mentioned,  "  Nelson  was  the  man 
to  love.^^ 


94  UO RATIO  NELSON. 

At  the  Island  of  Nevis,  Nelson  fell  in  love  for  the 
third  time.  The  lady  was  Mrs.  Fanny  Nisbet,  whose 
husband,  a  physician,  had  died  insane,  eighteen  months 
after  their  marriage.  Her  uncle,  Mr.  Herbert,  was  the 
president  of  Nevis.  She  had  a  son  Josiah,  several  years 
old,  to  Avhom  Nelson  became  attached ;  and  this,  of 
course,  helped  to  win  the  favor  of  the  mother. 

Three  months  before  their  marriage  he  writes  to  her 
from  Antigua,  where  he  has  Prince  William  Henry  with 
him :  "  What  is  it  to  attend  on  princes !  let  me  attend 
on  you  and  I  am  satisfied.  Some  are  born  for  attendants 
on  great  men ;  I  rather  think  that  is  not  my  particular 
province.  His  lioydl  Highness  often  tells  me  he  be- 
lieves I  am  married,  for  he  never  saw  a  lover  so  easy  or 
say  so  little  of  the  object  he  has  a  regard  for.  When  I 
tell  him  I  certainly  am  not,  then  he  is  sure  I  must  liave 
a  great  esteem  for  you,  and  that  it  is  not  what  is  vul- 
garly —  I  do  not  much  like  the  use  of  that  word  —  called 
love. 

"  He  is  right ;  my  love  is  founded  on  esteem,  the  only 
foundation  that  can  make  the  passion  last.  I  need  not 
tell  you  what  you  so  well  know,  that  I  wish  I  had  a 
fortune  to  settle  on  you ;  but  I  trust  I  have  a  good  name, 
and  that  certain  events  will  bring  the  other  about ;  it  is 
my  misfortune,  not  my  fault.  You  can  marry  me  only 
from  a  sincere  affection ;  therefore  I  ought  to  make  you 
a  good  husband,  and  I  hope  it  w\\\  turn  out  that  I 
shall." 

Again  he  writes,  "  I  daily  thank  God,  who  ordained 
that  I  shoiild  be  attached  to  you.  He  has,  I  firmly  be- 
lieve, intended  it  as  a  blessing  to  me,  and  I  am  well 
convinced  you  will  not  disappoint  his  beneficent  inten- 
tions." 


r 


HORATIO  NELSON.  95 

These  are  certainly  very  different  letters  from  those 
which  he  wrote  in  after  years  to  Lacly  Hamilton,  whom 
he  idolized.  Undoubtedly  Nelson  mistook  loneliness  of 
heart  for  love  ;  as  he  wrote  to  Lady  Hamilton  years  after, 
"  I  never  did  love  any  one  else.  ...  I  have  been  the 
world  around,  and  in  every  corner  of  it,  and  never  yet 
saw  your  equal,  or  even  one  who  could  be  put  in  com- 
parison with  you."  Nelson  and  Mrs.  Nisbet  were  mar- 
ried March  12,  1787,  Prince  William  giving  away  the 
bride.  Many  of  his  friends  in  the  service  regretted  that 
he  liad  married  before  his  honors  had  been  more  fully 
won.  "  The  Navy,"  said  Captain  ]*ringlo,  the  day  aftei- 
the  wedding,  "yesterday  lost  one  of  its  greatest  orna- 
ments by  Nelson's  marriage.  It  is  a  national  loss  that 
such  an  officer  should  marry  ;  had  it  not  been  for  that 
circumstance,  I  foresaw  that  Nelson  would  become  the 
greatest  man  in  the  service." 

Nelson  took  his  wife  to  England,  arriving  at  Spithead 
July  4,  about  four  months  after  their  marriage.  He  had 
a[)])lied  for  a  ship-of-the-line,  but  no  notice  was  taken 
of  the  re(pu'st.  He  retired  with  his  wife  to  the  parson- 
age at  l>urnham  Thorpe,  and  at  the  request  of  his  aged 
father  remained  there.  He  was  in  very  poor  health  and 
living  on  half-pay.  "  From  the  30th  of  November,  1787, 
to  the  .30th  of  January,  1793,"  says  W.  Clark  Russell,  in 
his  life  of  the  hero,  "  Nelson,  whose  delicate  form  en- 
closed the  genius  of  the  greatest  sea-captain  the  world 
has  (n-er  produced,  was  coiu])('ll('d  by  departmental 
neglect  to  lie  by  in  an  almost  poverty-stricken  retire- 
ment." 

Again  and  again  he  asked  for  employment.  The 
prince  recommended  him  to  Lord  (Hiatham,  but  nothing 
was  done.     In  December,  1792,  Nelson  wrote,  ''  If  your 


96  HORATIO  NELSON. 

lordships  should  be  pleased  to  appoint  me  to  a  cockle- 
boat  I  should  be  grateful."  He  would  have  left  the  ser- 
vice, if  he  had  had  means  to  live  on  shore.  He  was 
irritated  beyond  measure  by  this  neglect,  and  perhaps 
Mrs.  Nelson  did  not  find  the  parsonage  a  perfect  liaven 
of  rest  and  peace. 

Finally  Nelson  concluded  to  take  refuge  in  France. 
That  country  had  become  a  republic  Sept,  21,  1792. 
She  soon  found  herself,  on  account  of  her  democratic 
principles,  engaged  in  war  witli  various  countries,  Great 
Britain  among  them.  Feb.  1,  1793,  she  declared  war 
against  England,  Holland,  and  Spain.  Sardinia  was 
already  at  war  with  France.  As  soon  as  England  was  in- 
volved in  war,  Nelson  was  needed ;  and  lie  was  assigned 
to  the  Agamemnon,  a  fine  ship  of  sixty -four  guns,  called 
by  the  seamen,  "  Old  Eggs-and-Bacon."  She  sailed  for 
Gibraltar  June  27,  1793,  with  Lord  Hood's  fleet,  nine- 
teen sail-of-the-line,  and  a  convoy  of  mercliant-sliips. 

When  Lord  Hood  arrived  in  the  Mediterranean,  he 
stationed  his  ships  off  Toulon,  which  soon  surrendered 
to  the  Jiritish,  without  firing  a  shot.  Nels(m  was  at  once 
ordered  to  Naples  with  despatches  for  Sir  William  Ham- 
ilton, the  British  minister,  and  to  ask  for  ten  thousand 
Italian  troops,  to  help  in  the  preservation  of  Toulon. 

King  Ferdinand  and  his  queen,  Maria  Caroline,  the 
daughter  of  Maria  Theresa  of  Austria,  gave  Nelson  most 
cordial  welcome  at  Court,  feeling  that  the  Englisli  wei-e 
"  the  saviours  of  Italy."  Sir  William  Hamilton  told  his 
wife  that  he  was  going  to  introduce  her  to  a  little  man, 
not  handsome,  "but  an  English  naval  officer,  who  will 
become  the  greatest  man  that  England  ever  produced.  I 
know  it  from  the  few  words  I  have  already  exchanged 
with  him.     I  pronounce  that  he  will  one  day  astonish  the 


HORATIO  NELSON.  97 

world.  .  .  .  Let  him  be  put  in  the  room  prepared  for 
Prince  Augustus." 

Lady  Hamilton  received  Nelson  with  her  accustomed 
grace  and  cordiality.  He  wrote  his  wife,  "  She  is  a  young 
woman  of  amiable  manners,  and  who  does  honor  to  the 
station  in  which  she  is  raised.  .  .  .  She  has  been  won- 
derfully kind  and  good  to  Josiah." 

Nelson  was  at  this  time  about  thirty-five,  and  Lady 
Hamilton  five  years  younger,  of  the  same  age  as  his  wife. 
She  was  a  woman  of  remarkable  beauty  and  great  sweet- 
ness of  manner.  Southey  said,  "  She  was  a  woman  whose 
personal  accomplishments  have  seldom  been  ('(pialled, 
and  whose  powers  of  mind  were  not  less  fascinating  than 
her  person."  Her  history  had  been  a  strange  one.  Born 
in  extreme  poverty,  and  early  left  an  orphan  by  the  death 
of  her  father,  she  was  for  some  years  a  nursery-maid  and 
servant,  then  a  model  for  Romney,  the  famous  artist, 
who  painted  her  twenty-three  times,  as  Bacchante,  Saint 
Cecilia,  a  Magdalen,  a  Wood  Nymph,  Joan  of  Arc,  etc., 
and  thought  her  the  most  beautiful  human  being  he  had 
ever  looked  uix>n. 

At  this  time  she  supported  herself  by  her  needle.  Her 
beauty  attracted  the  attention  of  Mr.  Charles  Greville, 
second  son  of  Francis,  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Lord  Archibald  Hamilton.  He  educated 
hex',  and  she  became  skilled  in  music  and  languages. 
She  i)layed  finely  on  the  harp.  Her  stage  talents  were 
so  great  that  she  was  offered  two  thousand  guineas  to 
sing  for  the  season  at  the  Opera  House  in  London. 
Greville  sent  her  to  Naples  witli  liis  uncle.  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  with  the  avowed  object  of  perfecting  her  in 
music,  but  in  reality  to  abandon  her,  as  he  had  become 
somewhat  straitened  in  circumstances. 


98  HORATIO  NELSON. 

She  loved  Greville,  and  was  deeply  wounded  at  his 
treatment.  Sir  William,  a  younger  son  of  Lord  Archi- 
bald Hamilton,  was  at  that  time  sixty-one,  and  Emma 
Lyon  twenty-eight.  He  had  married  for  his  first  wife  a 
Welsh  heiress,  who  had  died  nine  years  previously:  In 
1791,  Sept.  6,  he  married  Emma,  who  thus  became  Lady 
Hamilton.  He  was  a  student  of  art,  an  author  of 
several  volumes,  and  for  thirty-six  years  minister  to 
Italy. 

However  blamewortliy  the  previous  life  of  Lady  Ham- 
ilton, Sir  William  was  devoted  to  her,  and  said  at  his 
death,  twelve  years  later,  "  My  incomparable  Emma,  you 
have  never,  in  tliought,  word,  or  deed,  offended  me ;  and 
let  me  thank  you,  again  and  again,  for  your  affectionate 
kindness  to  me  all  the  time  of  our  ten  years'  happy 
union." 

On  leaving  Naples,  Nelson  was  despatched  to  Corsica 
and  Sardinia,  to  protect  British  trade  and  that  of  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany.  He  wrote  to  his  wife,  "This 
island  is  to  belong  to  England,  to  be  governed  by  its  own 
laws,  as  Ireland,  and  a  viceroy  placed  here  with  free 
ports.  Italy  and  Spain  are  jealous  of  our  obtaining  pos- 
session ;  it  will  command  the  Mediterranean." 

The  town  of  Bastia  was  taken  by  Nelson.  "  I  am  all 
astonishment,"  he  said,  "  when  I  reflect  on  what  we  have 
achieved  .  .  .  four  thousand  in  all,  laying  down  their 
arms  to  twelve  hundred  soldiers,  marines,  and  seamen  ! 
I  always  was  of  ojunion,  have  ever  acted  up  to  it,  and 
never  had  any  reason  to  repent  it,  that  one  Englishman 
was  equal  to  three  Frenchmen." 

At  the  siege  of  Calvi,  by  the  bursting  of  a  shell  in  the 
ground,  sand  and  small  gravel  destroyed  the  sight  of 
Nelson's  right  eye.     For  two  years  Nelson  was  almost 


HORATIO  NELSON.  99 

constantly  active.  He  wrote  his  wife,  Aug.  2,  1796, 
"  Had  all  my  actions  been  gazetted,  not  one  fortnight 
would  have  passed  during  the  whole  war  without  a  letter 
from  me  ;  one  day  or  other  I  will  have  a  long  gazette  to 
inyseM.  I  feel  that  such  an  opportunity  will  be  given 
me.  I  cannot,  if  I  am  in  the  field  of  glory,  be  kept  out 
of  sight ;  wherever  there  is  anything  to  be  done,  there 
Providence  is  sure  to  direct  my  steps." 

He  had  been  made  colonel  of  marines,  and  then  com- 
modore. The  Agamemnon  had  been  sent  to  Tjeghorn  to 
refit,  so  badly  had  she  been  damaged  by  shot. 

Corsica  was  finally  evacuated,  and  Nelson  proceeded 
to  Gibraltar.  Spain  and  France  had  now  become  allies. 
Off  Cape  St.  Vincent,  on  the  coast  of  Portugal,  a  severe 
battle  was  fought,  February  14,  1797,  between  the  Eng- 
lish and  Spanish  fleets.  The  former  had  fifteen  ships- 
of-the-line,  with  four  frigates,  a  sloop,  and  a  cutter.  The 
latter  had  twenty-seven  ships-of-the-line,  Avith  ten  frig- 
ates, and  a  brig.  Nelson,  in  tlie  Captain,  was  at  one  time 
engaged  with  no  less  than  nine  line-of-battle  ships.  He 
and  his  seamen  sprang  aboard  the  San  Nicolas  and  tlie 
San  Josef,  he  exclaiming,  it  is  recorded,  "  Westminister 
Abbey  or  victory  !  "  received  the  swords  of  some  of  the 
Spanish  officers,  and  in  tlie  midst  of  falling  spars  and 
blinding  smoke,  showed  themselves  heroic. 

For  this  successful  battle  Nelson  received  the  Knight- 
hood and  Order  of  the  Bath,  and  Avas  made  Rear-Ad- 
miral.  The  sword  of  the  S])anish  admiral  given  to 
Nelson  on  board  the  San  Josef  was  presented  to  the 
mayor  and  corporation  of  Norwich,  the  capital  of  the 
county  in  which  he  was  born.  The  freedom  of  the  city 
was  voted  to  him. 

His  aged  father  wrote  him,  "The  name  and  services 


100  HORATIO  NELSON. 

of  Nelson  have  sounded  through  this  city  of  Bath  — 
from  the  common  ballad-singer  to  the  public  theatre." 

His  wife  begged  him  "  never  to  board  again.  Leave 
it  for  captains.  .  .  .  You  have  been  most  wonderfully 
protected ;  you  have  done  desperate  actions  enough^ 

On  the  night  of  July  3,  1797,  Cadiz,  off  the  coast  of 
Spain,  was  bombarded.  Nelson  was  in  a  most  desperate 
action.  In  a  barge  with  twelve  men,  he  was  attacked 
by  a  Spanish  barge  of  twenty-six  oars,  with  thirty  in  lier 
crew.  A  hand-to-hand  hglit  ensued.  The  Spanish  com- 
mander and  his  launch  were  taken,  and  eighteen  of  his 
men  were  killed.  Tlie  life  of  Nelson  was  saved  by  a 
trusted  follower,  John  Sykes,  Avho  interposed  his  own 
head  to  receive  the  blow  of  a  Spanish  sabre.  He  recov- 
ered from  his  dangerous  wound,  '•'  but  did  not  live  long 
enough,"  says  Soutliey,  "  to  profit  by  the  gratitude  and 
friendship  of  his  commander." 

On  July  15  Nelson  sailed  in  the  ship  Theseus  for 
Teneriffe,  off  the  coast  of  Africa.  On  tlie  evening  of 
July  24,  he  determined  to  attack  the  garrison  of  Santa 
Cftiz.  With  the  help  of  his  step-son,  Lieutenant  Josiah 
Nisbet,  he  burned  his  wife's  letters  before  starting  to 
row  ashore.  Seeing  that  the  young  man  was  armed,  he 
begged  him  to  remain  in  the  ship,  saying,  "  Shoidd  we 
both  fall,  Josiah,  what  would  become  of  your  poor 
mother  ?  The  care  of  the  Theseus  falls  to  you ;  stay 
therefore,  and  take  cliarge  of  her." 

"  The  ship  must  take  care  of  herself,"  said  Nisbet ; 
"I  will  go  with  you  to-night  if  I  never  go  again." 

The  expedition  was  a  failure.  Several  of  the  boats 
missed  the  pier  in  the  darkness,  some  were  struck  by 
shot  and  their  men  drowned  —  ninety-seven  men  went 
down  in  the  fog  —  and  Nelson  was  shot  through  the 


HORATIO  NELSON.  101 

right  elbow,  as  he  was  stepping  out  of  his  boat.  As  he 
fell  young  Nisbet  placed  him  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
and  laid  his  hat  over  the  arm,  lest  the  sight  of  the  blood 
should  increase  Nelson's  faintness.  Then  taking  a  silk 
handkerchief  from  his  own  neck,  he  bound  it  above  tlie 
elbow,  thus  saving  the  life  of  the  admiral.  One  of  the 
bargemen,  Lovel,  tore  his  sliirt  into  shreds  to  make  a 
bandage  for  the  sliattered  arm. 

When  his  boat  reached  the  Theseus,  Nelson  declined 
to  be  helped  on  board,  and  twisted  the  rope  thrown  over 
the  side  of  the  ship  round  his  left  hand,  saying,  "Let 
me  alone ;  I  have  yet  my  legs  and  one  arm.  Tell  the  sur- 
geon to  make  haste  and  get  his  instruments.  I  know  I 
must  lose  my  right  arm ;  so  the  sooner  it  is  olf,  the 
better." 

Wlien  asked  by  the  surgeon  if  he  wished  the  arm  em- 
balmed that  he  might  send  it  to  England  for  burial,  he 
said,  "  Throw  it  into  the  hammock  with  the  brave  fellow 
that  was  killed  beside  me,"  whose  body  was  about  to  be 
thrown  overboard. 

Nelson  was  greatly  depressed  after  this  failure,  and 
said,  ''  A  left-handed  admiral  will  never  again  be  con- 
sidered as  useful ;  therefore  the  sooner  I  get  to  a  very 
humble  cottage  the  better,  and  make  room  for  a  sounder 
man  to  serve  the  state." 

He  returned  to  England  in  September,  and  went  to 
Bath  where  his  father  and  Lady  Nelson  Avere  staying. 
She  tenderly  nursed  her  husband  for  three  months,  till 
his  arm  was  healed.  In  Decend)er,  17*,)7,  at  his  reipiest 
the  following  notice  was  read  in  St.  (Jeorge's  Church, 
Hanover  Square,  London  :  "  An  officer  desires  to  return 
thai\ks  to  Almiglity  God  for  his  perfect  recovery  from  a 
severe  wound,  and  also  for  the  many  mercies  bestowed 
on  him." 


102  HORATfO   NELSON. 

Til  is  year,  171)7,  government  settled  a  pension  of  a 
thousand  pounds  a  year  on  Sir  Horatio  Nelson,  and  at 
St.  James's  I'alace  made  him  Knight  Companion  of  the 
Bath.  The  freedom  of  the  city  of  London  was  conferred 
upon  him  in  December,  and  with  it  a  gold  box  worth 
one  hundred  guineas. 

April  1,  1708,  he  sailed  in  the  Vanguard,  of  seventy- 
four  guns,  to  join  Lord  St.  Vincent  and  the  fleet  off 
Cadiz.  It  was  known  tliat  Napoleon  and  the  French 
fleet  were  preparing  for  an  invasion  of  some  country 
of  the  allied  forces,  either  England,  Spain,  or  Italy. 
Nelson's  instructions  were  to  "take,  sink,  burn,  and 
destroy  it."  It  is  now  known  that  Napoleon's  expedi- 
tion was  against  the  East  Indian  Empire,  to  cripjHe 
England.  The  Mediterranean  was  searched  for  the 
French  ships.  Nelson  wrote  his  wife :  "  I  have  not 
been  able  to  find  the  French  fleet.  ...  I  yet  live  in 
hopes  of  meeting  these  fellows ;  but  it  would  have  been 
my  delight  to  have  tried  Bonaparte  on  a  bowline,  for  he 
commands  the  fleet  as  well  as  the  army.  Glory  is  my 
object  and  that  alone." 

After  some  months  of  fruitless  search,  Nelson  obtained 
a  fresh  supply  of  provisions  in  July  at  Syracuse.  A 
treaty  between  Na])les  and  France  forbade  more  than 
two  English  ships  to  enter  any  Neapolitan  or  Sicilian 
port,  and  it  is  said  that  Lady  Hamilton  gained  the 
needed  concession  from  her  friend.  Queen  Maria  Car- 
oline, without  Avhich  Nelson  (in  his  Will,  on  the  last  day 
of  his  life)  declared  he  could  never  have  gone  to  Egypt 
and  fought  the  glorious  battle  of  the  Nile. 

On  the  morning  of  Aug.  1,  1798,  Nelson  Avas  off  the 
city  of  Alexandria  in  Egypt.  His  force  amounted  to 
thirteen  seventy-four  gun  shi])S,  one  of  fifty  guns,  and 


IIORAriO   NELSON.  103 

one  brig,  all  carrying  8,068  lueu,  with  1,012  guns.  The 
French  had  also  thirteen  ships  of  the  line,  with  eight 
frigates,  brigs,  and  bomb  vessels.  They  had  11,230  men, 
with  1,220  guns.  The  French  had  come  to  anchor  in 
Aboukir  Bay,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Xile. 

The  British  were  overjoyed  at  finding  the  French 
fleet.  Nelson  had  scarcely  eaten  or  slept  for  days ;  but, 
now  that  the  enemy  were  in  sight,  he  ordered  dinner  to 
be  served  on  the  Vanguard,  and,  on  rising  from  the  table, 
is  said  to  have  exclaimed  to  his  oflicers,  "  Before  this 
time  to-morrow  I  shall  have  gained  a  peerage  or  West- 
minster Abbey." 

After  talking  over  the  plan  of  battle  with  his  officers, 
one  of  them  said  with  enthusiasm,  "  If  we  succeed,  what 
will  the  world  say  ?  " 

"There  is  no  if  in  the  case,"  re})lied  the  admiral; 
*'  that  we  shall  succeed  is  certain ;  who  may  live  to  tell 
the  story  is  a  very  different  question." 

A  little  after  six  in  the  evening,  Aug.  1,  the  fierce  bat- 
tle began.  Nelson  had  six  colors  flying  in  dift'erent  parts 
of  his  rigging,  lest  they  should  be  shot  away.  The  first 
two  ships  of  the  French  line  were  dismasted  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour;  the  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  were  taken  at 
half-past  eight. 

Ni'lson  received  a  severe  wound  in  the  head,  which, 
though  he  supposed  it  would  prove  fatal,  Southey  says 
the  admiral  would  not  allow  touched  until  the  other 
wounded  had  been  cared  for.  "  I  will  take  my  turn  with 
my  brave  fellows,"  he  said. 

About  nine  the  L'Orient,  the  flagship  of  the  French 
Admiral  de  P>rueys,  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  guns, 
was  seen  to  be  on  fire.  Brueys  was  dead.  He  had 
received  three  wounds,  but  would  not  leave  his  post.     A 


104  HORATIO   NELSON. 

fourth  cut  him  nearly  in  two.  He  requested  to  Ije  left 
to  die  on  the  deck,  and  expired  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterwards. 

When  Nelson  saw  the  ship  on  fire,  he  gave  orders  that 
boats  should  be  sent  to  the  enemy.  About  seventy  of 
her  crew  were  saved  by  the  English  boats.  So  heroic 
were  her  men  that  they  continued  to  fire  from  the  upper 
decks  after  the  lower  were  in  flames.  Between  ten  and 
eleven  the  huge  ship  exploded.  Officers  and  men  jum})ed 
overboard,  and  most  were  lost  in  that  frightful  commin- 
gling of  fire  and  falling  timbers  which  had  been  shot 
high  into  the  air. 

Both  fleets  seemed  paralyzed,  and  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  no  gun  was  fired.  All  was  darkness  and  silence 
save  the  groans  of  the  dying,  and  the  swell  of  the  ingulf- 
ing sea.  Among  those  who  })erished  were  Commodore 
Casablanca  and  his  brave  little  son  of  ten  or  twelve, 
whom  Mrs.  Hemans  has  immortalized  in  her  poem :  — 

"  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck 
Whence  all  but  him  had  fled  ; 
The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautifid  and  bright  he  stood, 

As  born  to  rul*^  the  storm  ; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  child-like  form." 

The  battle  raged  till  three  in  the  morning.  The  French 
were  overwhelmingly  defeated.  "  Victory  is  not  a  name 
strong  enough  for  such  a  scene ;  it  is  a  conquest,"  said 
Nelson. 

Of  thirteen  French  sail-of-the-line,  nine  were  taken 
and  two  burned  ;  of  the  four  frigates,  one  was  sunk  and 


HORATIO   NELSON.  105 

another  was  burned.  Of  the  French,  5,221  were  taken, 
drowned,  burned,  and  missing.  Tlie  English  lost  218 
killed  and  077  wounded.  Long  after  the  battle  a  great 
number  of  bodies  floated  about  the  bay  in  spite  of  all 
efforts  to  sink  them.  Many  were  cast  up  on  Nelson's 
Island,  and  the  sailors  raised  mounds  of  sand  over  them. 
For  four  leagues  tlie  shore  was  covered  with  wrecks. 
The  day  after  the  battle,  Aug.  2,  at  two  o'clock,  Nelson's 
ship  gave  piiblic  thanksgiving  to  God.  Other  ships  were 
recommended  to  do  the  same  as  soon  as  convenient. 

Part  of  L'Orient's  mainmast  was  i)icked  up  by  the 
English  ship  Swiftsure,  Benjamin  Hallowell,  captain. 
A  coffin  was  made  from  this  and  presented  to  Nelson 
with  the  note  :  — 

"  My  lord,  herewith  I  send  you  a  coffin  made  of  part  of 
L'Orient's  mainmast,  that  when  you  are  tired  of  this  life 
you  may  be  buried  in  one  of  your  own  trophies  ;  but  may 
that  period  be  far  distant,  is  the  sincere  wish  of  your 
obedient  and  much  obliged  servant, 

Bkn  IIallowkll." 

Nelson  was  greatly  pleased  with  this  gift,  and  ordered 
it  i)laced  upright  in  his  cabin.  Finally,  at  the  request  of 
his  friends,  it  was  carried  below.  He  was  eventually 
buried  in  it. 

The  joy  at  Napoleon's  defeat  was  inexpressible.  Eng- 
land made  Nelson  a  baron,  with  a  pension  of  £2,000  a 
year  while  he  lived,  to  descend  to  his  two  male  suc- 
cessors. The  East  India  Company  voted  him  £10,000, 
as  they  had  thus  been  saved  from  French  conquest.  The 
Emperor  Paul  of  Russia  sent  him  his  portrait  set  in 
diamonds,  in  a  gold  box.     The  Sultan  of  Turkey  sent  a 


106  HORATIO  NELSON. 

pelisse  of  sable  fur  valued  at  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
a  diamond  aigrette  valued  at  eighteen  thousand  dollars, 
taken  from  the  royal  turbans.  The  Sultan's  mother  sent 
a  box  set  in  diamonds  valued  at  five  thousand  dollai-s ; 
the  King  of  Sardinia  a  gold  box  set  in  diamonds ;  the 
King  of  the  Two  Sicilies  a  sword  wliich  once  belonged  to 
Charles  III.  of  Spain.  His  friend  Alexander  Davison 
sent  medals  to  the  officers  and  men  costing  JtJ 2,000. 
These  were  all  greatly  prized  by  the  men. 

Italy  was  as  rejoiced  at  the  defeat  of  the  French 
as  was  England.  When  the  news  reached  >>ai)les,  botii 
the  queen  and  Lady  Hamilton  fainted.  Lady  Hamilton 
wrote  to  Nelson  of  the  cpieen,  '•  She  cried,  kis.sed  her 
husband,  her  children,  walked  frantic  about  the  room ; 
cried,  kissed  and  embraced'  every  person  near  her,  ex- 
claiming, 0  brave  Nelson  !  0  God,  bless  and  protect 
our  brave  deliverer !  0  Nelson,  Nelson,  what  do  we  not 
owe  you !  0  victor,  saviour  of  Italy !  Oh  that  my 
swollen  heart  could  now  tell  him  j^ersonally  what  we 
owe  him  !  "  She  was  the  sister  of  Marie  Antoinette, 
and,  of  course,  felt  no  love  for  the  people  who  had  i)ut 
her  beautiful  sister  to  death. 

On  Sept.  22  Nelson  and  his  ships  api)eared  off  Naples. 
Hundreds  of  boats  and  barges  went  out  to  meet  them 
with  music  and  banners.  He  describes  the  scene  in  a 
letter  to  Lady  Nelson,  "  I  must  endeavor  to  convey  to 
you  something  of  what  passed  ;  but  if  it  were  so  affect- 
ing to  those  who  were  only  united  to  me  by  bonds  of 
friendship,  what  must  it  be  to  my  dearest  wife,  my 
friend,  my  everything  which  is  most  dear  to  me  in  this 
world  ?  Sir  William  Hamilton  and  his  wife  came  out 
to  sea,  attended  by  numerous  boats  with  endilems,  etc. 
They,  my  most  respectable  friends,  had  nearly  been  laid 


HORATIO   NELSON.  107 

up  and  seriously  ill ;  first  from  anxiety,  and  then  from 

joy.  ... 

"Alongside  came  my  honored  friends;  the  scene  in 
the  boat  was  terribly  affecting ;  up  flew  her  ladysliip, 
and  exclaiming,  '  O  God  !  is  it  possible  ?  '  she  fell  into 
my  arms  more  dead  than  alive.  Tears,  however,  soon 
set  matters  to  rights  ;  when  alongside  came  the  king. 
The  scene  was  in  its  way  as  interesting ;  he  took  me  by 
the  hand,  calling  me  his  '  Deliverer  and  Preserver,'  with 
every  expression  of  kindness.''  .  .  . 

The  poor  of  Italy  were  no  less  enthusiastic.  They 
bronght  cages  of  birds^  and  oi)ening  them,  aUowed  the 
little  creatures  to  fly  about  the  ship,  and  alight  upon 
the  admiral's  shoulder. 

Nelson  had  been  very  ill,  and  was  taken  to  the  house 
of  Sir  "William  Hamilton,  where  his  wife  nursed  the 
admiral  back  to  health.  She  arranged  a  celebration  for 
him  on  his  fortieth  birthday,  Sept.  29.  Eighteen  hun- 
dred people  were  entertained  at  a  cost  of  two  thousand 
ducats.  '*  Every  ribbon,  every  button,  has  Nelson,"  etc., 
writes  tlie  admiral.  "  The  whole  service  is  marked 
H.  N.,  Glorious  1st  of  August!" 

Encouraged  by  the  victory  of  Nelson,  a  second  coali- 
tion was  now  formed  against  Nai)oleon,  comi)osed  of 
Russia,  Austria,  England,  Portugal,  Naples,  and  Turkey. 
Ferdinand  of  Naples  engaged  to  raise  eighty  thousand 
soldiers  for  the  common  cause.  A  force  of  thirty-two 
thousand  Italians  were  sent  to  Rome  to  drive  out  the 
French,  but  were  defeated,  aiul  the  French  in  turn 
entered  Naples  and  com[)elled  the  royal  family  to  fly  for 
safety  to  Palermo. 

Lady  Hamilton,  with  great  skill  and  courage,  after 
having  explored  a  subterranean  passage  from  the  royal 


108  HORATIO  NELSON. 

palace  to  the  seaside,  liad  two  millions  and  a  half  of 
royal  treasures,  paintings  and  the  like,  removed  to  the 
English  ships.  She  also  assisted  the  king  and  his 
family  secretly  to  reach  Nelson's  barges  on  the  night  of 
Dec.  21.  They  were  carried  to  the  Vanguard  in  a  heavy 
sea. 

On  the  night  of  Dec.  23  the  fleet  sailed.  A  dread- 
ful storm  arose;  Nelson  says,  "the  worst  I  ever  ex- 
perienced since  I  have  been  at  sea."  Almost  all  were 
ill,  and  Lady  Hamilton,  who  was  a  good  sailor,  soothed 
and  comforted  them.  Sir  William  sat  witli  a  pistol  in 
his  hand,  prepared  to  shoot  himself  if  the  vessel  sank. 
The  little  Prince  Albert  was  taken  ill  on  the  morning  of 
Dec.  25,  and  died  at  seven  o'clock  that  evening  in  Lady 
Hamilton's  arms. 

Naples  for  a  time  was  transformed  b}'  tlie  French  into 
the  Parthenopsean  Kepublic,  which  later  was  abolislied, 
and  the  insurgents  put  to  death  by  Ferdinand.  Nelson 
has  been  censured,  and  justly,  for  the  execution,  on 
board  one  of  his  ships,  the  Foudroyant,  of  Francesco 
Caracciolo,  who  belonged  to  one  of  the  noble  families  of 
Naples,  and,  with  otliers,  had  been  promised  protection 
by  a  British  officer.  Caracciolo  was  tried  and  con- 
demned as  a  rebel  by  officers  of  his  own  country,  and 
Nelson  decided  not  to  interfere.  The  prisons  of  Naples 
were  indeed  slaughter  pens  ;  but  wars  are  never  humane, 
and  struggles  between  desi>otism  and  liberty  are  rarely 
bloodless. 

Ferdinand  rewarded  Nelson  with  the  Sicilian  dukedom 
of  Bronte,  with  an  estate  worth  alxmt  £.%()00  per  annum. 
Nelson  at  once  gave  from  this  estate  an  annuity  of  £500 
for  life  to  his  father.  He  had  already  given  out  of  the 
£10,000  voted  him  by  the  East  India  Com  pan}-,  five  hun- 


nOBATtO  NELSON.  lOO 

(Ired  pounds  each  to  his  father,  his  brother-in-law,  Mr. 
Kolton,  his  sister,  Mrs.  Matcham,  and  Ids  brothers  Man- 
rice  and  William.  When  his  brother  Maurice  died  in 
April,  1801,  Nelson  gave  his  blind  widow  £100  a  year 
while  he  lived,  and  Lady  Hamilton  cared  for  her  after 
Ids  death.  He  wrote  to  his  wife,  "  If  I  were  rieli  I 
would  do  more.  To  my  father  say  everything  whicli  is 
kind.  I  love,  honor,  and  respect  him  as  a  father  and  as 
a  man,  and  as  the  very  best  man  I  ever  saw.  May  God 
Almighty  bless  you,  my  dear  father,  and  all  my  brothers 
and  sisters,  is  the  fervent  prayer  of  your  affectionate  — 
Nelson." 

The  Queen  of  Naples  gave  Nelson  the  king's  picture 
set  in  diamonds  and  emeralds.  She  gave  Lady  Emma 
Hamilton  her  portrait  set  witii  diamonds,  witli  the 
words  "Eterna  Gratitiidine"  on  the  back,  hanging  it 
round  luu*  neck  by  a  chain  of  gold;  to  Sir  William  a 
gold  snuffbox,  witli  a  picture  of  the  king  and  herself 
set  in  diamonds ;  the  king  sent  Sir  AVilliam  and  his  wife 
each  a  i)icture  of  himself  richly  set  in  jewels,  worth  a 
thousand  guineas.  Lady  Hamilton  also  received  two 
coach-loads  of  costly  dresses  from  Queen  Caroline,  and 
a  superb  diamond  necklace,  with  the  cipher  of  the 
names  of  all  the  royal  cliildren,  ornamented  by  locks  of 
their  hair.  Emperor  Paul  of  Riissia  sent  lier  the  cross 
of  the  Order  of  Malta,  the  first  Englishwoman  upon 
wliom  the  honor  was  ever  bestowed. 

The  Island  of  Zante  sent  Nelson  a  golden-headed 
sword  and  a  truiu'heon  s<^t  round  witli  dianu)nds.  thank- 
ing him  "  for  having  by  his  victory  preserved  that  i>art 
of  Greece  from  tlie  liorrors  of  anarcliy." 

The  French  having  been  driven  out  of  Italy,  Nelson, 
in  poor  health,  asked  to  return  to  ICngland.     Sir  William 


llO  tlORATtO  NELSOlf. 

Hamilton  liad  been  superseded  by  Hon.  Artluir  Paget, 
so  he  and  liis  wife  decided  to  return  at  tlie  same  time. 
The  queen  and  some  of  her  children  accompanied  them 
to  Vienna.  Here  Pi-ince  Esterliazy  entertained  the  party 
in  regal  style  for  four  days,  a  hundred  grenadiers,  six 
feet  high,  waiting  at  table.  At  Dresden  the  party  re- 
niained  eight  days,  wlien  two  vessels  were  fitted  \\\t  for 
their  conveyance  down  the  Elbe  to  Hamburg.  Every- 
where great  crowds  gathered  to  see  the  hero  of  the  Nile. 
At  Hamburg  he  met  a  venerable  clergyman  who  had 
travelled  forty  miles  to  ask  the  adndral  to  write  in  the 
parish  Bible.  Here  Nelson  called  upon  the  poet  Klop- 
stoek.  He  also  bought  some  elegant  lace  trimming  for 
a  c(mrt  dress  for  his  wife. 

On  Oct.  31  they  starte'd  for  England  on  a  mail  packet, 
and  reached  Yarmoutli  Nov.  (5,  l.SOO,  after  an  absence 
of  two  years  and  seven  months.  On  landing  in  a  har- 
bor radiant  with  flags,  his  carriage  was  drawn  by  the 
eager  multitude  to  the  inn ;  the  freedom  of  the  town 
"was  given  him ;  and  then,  with  his  officers  and  people  of 
t\\e  town,  he  went  to  the  church  to  return  thanks  for 
his  safe  return  to  liis  country.  He  reached  Loudon  Sun- 
day, Nov.  9,  and  went  to  Ne rot's  hotel.  King  Street,  St. 
James's,  where  his  father  and  Lady  Nelson  had  come 
from  Norfolk  to  meet  him.  On  the  following  day  tlie 
])eople  took  his  horses  from  his  carriage  and  drew  him 
from  Ludgate  Hill  to  Guild  Hall,  where  he  received  the 
thanks  of  tlie  common  council,  and  a  golden-hilted  sword 
studded  with  diamonds. 

Kumors  of  Nelson's  devotiim  to  Lady  Hamilton  liad 
already  reached  Englaud  and  liis  wife.  She  received 
him  coldly.  Shortly  after  this,  while  Lord  and  T>ady 
Nelson  were  with  the  Hamiltons  at  the  theatre,  Lady 


HORATIO  NELSON.  Ill 

Nelson,  unable  to  control  her  feelings,  fainted  in  the 
box  where  they  were  sitting. 

For  two  months  Lord  Nelson  and  liis  wife  lived,  as 
might  be  supposed,  most  xtnliappily,  wheji  lie  determined 
to  leave  her  forever,  settling  upon  her  dBl,GOO  per  year. 
He  wrote  to  his  friend  Davison,  "  Sooner  than  live  tlie 
life  I  did  when  last  I  came  to  England,  I  would  stay 
abroad  forever."  The  last  time  he  saw  her,  Jan.  18, 
1801,  before  he  left  for  the  Baltic,  he  said  at  parting, 
"  1  call  God  to  witness  there  is  nothing  in  you  or  your 
conduct  I  wish  otherwise." 

In  1801  England  found  herself  engaged  in  conflict 
with  Denmark,  whicli  had  become  an  ally  of  Russia, 
Prussia,  and  Sweden,  in  naval  riglits.  On  March  12, 1801, 
a  fleet  of  fifty-two  sail  was  sent  into  the  Baltic  from 
England,  Nelson  acting  as  second  in  command  under  Sir 
Hyde  Parker.  On  March  10  the  ship  Invincible,  of 
seventy-four  guns,  struck  on  a  sand-bank  called  Ham- 
mond's Knowl,  and  went  down,  taking  four  hundred 
persons  with  her. 

The  harbor  of  Copenhagen  Avas  most  strongly  fortified. 
The  city  was  protected  by  defences  which  stretched  a 
distance  of  about  four  miles.  The  Danes  had  removed 
all  the  buoys,  so  that  Nelson  was  obliged  to  nuike  sound- 
ings and  replace  them. 

On  the  morning  of  April  1,  the  British  fleet  anchored 
within  two  leagues  of  Copenliagen.  On  April  2,  at  five 
minutes  past  ten  in  the  forenoon,  the  battle  began,  Nel- 
son's squadron  being  received  witli  tlie  fire  of  more  than 
a  thousand  guns.  As  some  of  his  ships  had  become  dis- 
abled. Admiral  I'arker,  at  a  distanci\  tliinking  tliat  the 
fire  was  too  liot  for  Nelson,  threw  out  the  signal  to 
retrt>at,  knowing  tliat  if  NelSon  could  possibly  continue 
the  battle  he  woidd  do  so. 


112  UORATIO  NELSON. 

When  told  of  the  signal,  Nelson  put  his  glass  to  his 
blind  eye,  saying,  "  I  really  do  not  see  the  signal !  Keep 
mine  for  closer  battle  flying  !  That's  the  way  1  answer 
such  signals.     Ngil  mine  to  the  mast !  " 

The  men  fought  heroically  on  botli  sides.  The  battle 
lasted  for  five  hours,  men  fighting  knee-deep  among  the 
dead  on  the  decks.  The  Danes  lost  1800  men,  including 
prisoners,  6,000,  and  the  English  253  killed  and  088 
wounded. 

Nelson  said,  "  I  have  been  in  one  hundred  and  five 
engagements  in  the  course  of  my  life,  but  this  has  been 
the  most  terrible  of  all." 

An  armistice  was  effected,  and  the  Crown  Prince  of 
Denmark  gave  a  grand  banquet  to  the  Danish  commis- 
sioners and  English  officers.  At  the  banquet,  Nelson 
praised  the  bravery  of  the  Danes,  and  asked  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Lieutenant  Villemoes,  a  youth  of  seventeen, 
who,  on  a  floating  battery  or  raft,  with  six  small  cannon 
and  twenty-four  men,  came  under  the  very  stern  of 
Nelson's  ship,  the  Elephant,  and  attacked  her.  Twenty 
of  his  men  were  killed  ;  but  the  boy-commander,  standing 
up  to  his  wai.st  among  his  dead  comrades,  fonght  till  the 
truce  was  proclaimed.  Sonthey  gives  the  number  of  guns 
as  twenty-four,  and  the  men  one  hundred  and  twenty. 

When  the  lad  was  brought  before  Nelson,  he  embraced 
him,  and  told  the  i)rince  that  the  youth  deserved  to  be 
made  an  admir.il.  "If,  my  lord,"  was  the  answer,"! 
Avere  to  make  all  my  brave  officers  admirals,  I  should 
have  no  cai)tains  or  lieutenants  in  my  service." 

Nelson,  brave  to  rashness  hinuself,  admired  it  in  others. 
When,  early  in  1800,  in  the  Mediterranean,  Le  Gcno- 
reux,  one  of  the  ships  that  had  escaped  at  the  battle  of 
the  Nile,  was  captured,  Nelson  jjatted  the  head  of  a  little 


HORATIO   NELSON.  113 

midshipman,  who  was  very  pale,  and  asked  liim  how  he 
relished  the  music.  He  told  the  boy  how  Charles  XII. 
ran  away  from  the  first  shot  he  heard,  but  was  afterwards 
called  "  the  Great  "  for  his  bravery.  "  I  therefore  hope 
much  from  you  in  future,"  said  the  admiral. 

Nelson  was  made  a  viscount  for  the  battle  of  Copen- 
hagen. His  estates  and  titles  were  to  go  to  his  father, 
to  his  brother  William,  and  then  to  the  male  heirs  of 
Nelson's  sisters,  Mrs.  Bolton,  and  next  Mrs.  Matcham. 

In  very  poor  health  he  returned  to  England,  and  was 
welcomed  to  the  home  of  Sir  William  Hamilton,  at  23 
Piccadilly. 

]^y  the  wish  of  Nelson,  Lady  Hamilton  purchased  a 
country  home  for  him,  called  Merton  Place,  in  Surrey, 
eight  miles  from  London.  "  It  would  make  you  laugh," 
wrote  Sir  William,  "  to  see  Emma  and  her  mother  fitting 
up  pig-stys  and  hen-coops,  and  already  the  canal  is 
enlivened  with  ducks,  and  the  cock  is  strutting  with  his 
hens  about  the  walks.  ...  I  have  lived  with  our  dear 
Emma  several  years.  I  know  her  merit,  have  a  great 
opinion  of  the  head  and  heart  that  God  Almighty  has 
been  pleased  to  give  her,  but  a  seaman  ahme  could  have 
given  a  fine  woman  full  power  to  choose  and  fit  up  a 
residence  for  him  without  seeing  it  himself." 

On  Oct.  29,  ISOl,  Viscount  Nelson  took  his  seat  in 
the  House  of  Lords.  The  following  year,  in  May,  the 
Kev.  Edmund  Nelson,  the  father  of  the  admiral,  was 
coming  to  live  with  his  son  and  the  Ilamiltons  at  INIerton 
Place ;  but  he  died  at  Burnham  Thorpe,  April  2C>,  at  the 
age  of  seventy-nine. 

During  the  summer  of  1802,  Nelson  journeyed  to 
Wales  with  the  family  of  his  brother,  the  Rev.  William 
Nelson,  and  the  Ilamiltons,  and  everywhere  received  the 


114  HORATIO   NELSON. 

homage  of  the  people.  Oxford  gave  liim  the  freedom  of 
the  city  in  a  gokl  box,  and  the  degree  of  D.C.L.  to  liim 
and  to  Sir  William.  He  passed  nnder  triumphal  arches, 
medals  were  struck  in  his  lionor,  and  crowds  escorted 
him  with  lighted  torches. 

The  next  year,  1803,  P^ngland  and  France,  or,  in  reality, 
England  and  Naj)oleon,  were  again  at  war.  Nelson  wrote 
a  characteristic  note  to  the  Premier :  — 

"  House  of  Lokds,  4  o'clock,  March  9,  1803, 
"  Whenever  it  is  necessary,  I  am  your  admiral. 

Nelson  and  Brontic." 

April  6,  1803,  Sir  William  Hamilton  died,  holding  his 
wife's  and  Nelson's  hands,  saying,  "  Protect  my  dear 
wife  ;  and  may  God  bless  you,  and  give  you  victory"  and 
protect  you  in  battle ! "  He  bequeathed  to  Nelson  a 
copy  of  a  picture  of  his  wife  by  Madame  Le  Brun  in 
enamel.  To  her  he  gave  a  legacy  of  £800,  and  an  an- 
nuity of  £800  for  life.  Sir  William's  pension  of  £1,200 
a  year  closed  with  his  death,  and,  as  the  government  did 
not  continue  it,  in  spite  of  Sir  William's  dying  wishes, 
Nelson  gave  the  amount  to  lier,  in  monthly  portions,  while 
he  lived. 

A  month  after  Sir  William's  death.  Nelson  was  ap- 
pointed to  the  command  of  the  Mediterranean  squadron, 
to  take  i)art  in  tlie  war  between  England  and  France. 
He  sailed  froni  Spithead,  May  20,  in  tlie  Victory,  and  for 
two  years,  lacking  ten  days,  did  not  step  out  of  his  ship. 
They  were  long,  weary  years  of  much  illness  and  loneli- 
ness, but  devotion  to  duty.  He  returned  to  Merton  on 
the  morning  of  A\ig.  20,  1805. 

A  month  later  he  was  again  called  to  serve  his  comitry. 
A  third  coalition  had  been  ft)riiied  by  England,  Kussia, 


iroRArio  nelson.  115 

Austria,  and  Sweden  against  France.  Spain  had  l)ecome 
the  ally  of  the  latter. 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  and  I  hope 
God  Almighty  will  go  with  me.  I  have  much  to  lose,  but 
little  to  gain;  and  I  go  because  it  is  right,  and  I  will 
serve  the  country  faithfully." 

He  left  Merton  Friday  night,  Sept.  lo.  at  half-jjast  ten, 
taking  a  sad  leave  of  his  sisters  and  Lady  Hamilton,  and 
kneeling  by  the  bedside  of  their  little  girl,  Horatia,  ear- 
nestly prayed  that  God  would  protect  and  bless  her.  This 
child  was  at  that  time  about  four  and  a  half  years  old, 
having  been  born  in  January,  1801. 

Nelson  writes  in  his  private  diary  that  evening,  "  At 
half-past  ten  drove  from  dear,  dear  Merton,  where  I  left 
all  which  I  hold  dear  in  this  world,  to  go  to  serve  my 
king  and  country.  ...  If  it  is  His  good  providence  to 
cut  short  my  days  upon  earth,  I  bow  with  tlie  greatest 
submission,  relying  that  He  will  protect  those  so  dear  to 
me  that  I  may  leave  behind.  His  will  be  done.  Amen ! 
Amen  !     Amen  !  " 

A  great  crowd  gathered  to  see  him  embark.  IVfany 
were  in  tears,  and  many  knelt  before  him  and  blessed 
him  as  he  passed.  He  remarked  to  liis  dear  friend, 
Ca])tain  Hardy,  "I  had  tlieir  Imzzas  before;  I  liave  their 
hearts  now." 

Sept,  28  the  fleet  anchored  off  Cadiz,  on  the  coast  of 
S})ain.  Nelson  knew  there  must  be  a  fearful  battle,  and 
seems  to  liave  expected  to  be  killed  in  it.  He  took  much 
exercise  daily,  generally  walking  the  deck  for  six  or  seven 
hours.  Such  was  the  activity  of  his  mind  that  he  rarely 
slept  more  than  two  hours  at  a  time.  He  never  thought 
of  liimself.  He  exposed  lus  body,  frail  as  it  was,  in  all 
kinds  of  weather,  and  would  not   change   his   clothing 


116  HORATIO   NELSON. 

when  wet  through.  He  disliked  to  depend  much  on 
others,  as  he  was  ()l)liged  to  do,  from  liaving  but  one  arm 
and  one  eye. 

He  was  veiy  })rompt,  and  made  good  use  of  time.  He 
once  said  to  General  Twiss,  "  Time,  Twiss,  time  is  every- 
thing. Five  minutes  makes  the  difference  between  a 
vi(^tory  and  a  defeat." 

He  was  extremely  generous.  When  one  of  his  men. 
Captain  l*arker,  died,  he  paid  his  d(^bts  and  funeral 
expenses,  about  £200.  He  spent  very  little  for  himself, 
and  much  for  others. 

It  was  thouglit  that  there  would  be  a  battle  on  Satur- 
day, Oct.  19 ;  and  Kelson  wrote  two  letters,  one  to  "  my 
dearest  angel,"  little  Horatia,  and  the  other  to  Lady 
Hamilton,  whom  he  woidd  have  mariied,  had  the  divorce 
laws  of  England  })ermitted.  To  her  he  writes,  "  May 
the  God  of  battles  crown  my  endeavors  with  success ;  at 
all  events,  I  will  take  care  that  my  name  shall  ever  be 
most  dear  to  you  and  Horatia,  both  of  whom  I  love  as 
anuch  as  my  own  life." 

On  Monday,  Oct.  21,  the  fleets,  now  off  Cajie  Trafalgar, 
below  Cadiz,  were  ready  for  action.  The  English  had 
twenty-seven  sail-of-the-line  and  four  frigates  ;  the  French 
and  Spanish  thirty-three  sail-of-the-line  and  seven  frig- 
ates. The  English  had  2,542  guns ;  the  French  and 
Spanish,  3,042  guns. 

Nelson  told  tlie  men  who  removed  the  picture  of  Lady 
Hamilton,  which  always  hung  in  his  cabin  in  the  Vic- 
tory, to  "  take  care  of  his  guardian  angel."  He  wore  a 
miniature  of  her  next  his  heart.  Tlien  he  wrote  an  ear- 
nest prayer,  and  a  codicil  to  his  will,  in  which  he  asked 
his  country  to  reward  Lady  Hamilton  for  her  services, 
leaving  her  and  his  child,  Horatia,  *'  a  legacy  to  ray  king 


I 


HORATIO  NELSON.  117 

and  country,  that  they  will  give  her  [Lady  Hamilton]  an 
ample  provision  to  maintain  her  rank  in  life.  These  are 
the  only  favors  I  ask  of  my  king  and  country,  at  this 
moment  when  I  am  going  to  light  their  battle." 

He  wore  his  admiral's  coat,  which  bore  on  the  left 
breast  his  decorations.  AVhen  fears  were  expressed  that 
these  would  make  him  a  mark  for  the  enemy,  he  said, 
"  In  honor  I  gained  them,  and  in  honor  I  will  die  with 
tliem." 

He  gave  orders  for  that  w4ill-kno\vn  signal,  "  England 
expects  that  every  num  will  do  his  duty,"  which  was 
received  with  tremendous  cheering.  "  You  must  be 
quick,"  he  said  to  Lieutenant  Pasco,  ''for  I  have  one 
more  to  make,  which  is  for  close  action." 

"  Now,"  said  Nelson,  "  I  can  do  no  more.  We  must 
trust  to  the  great  Disposer  of  all  events,  and  the  justice 
of  our  cause.  I  thank  God  for  this  great  ()i)portunity  of 
doing  my  duty." 

The  Koyal  Sovereign,  one  hundred  guns,  under  Yice- 
Admiral  Collingwood,  was  the  first  to  get  into  action,  a 
little  past  noon.  The  men  were  ordered  to  lie  down 
upon  the  decks  as  she  swept  into  the  foe.  She  gave  the 
great  Spanish  ship,  Santa  Ana,  a  broadside  with  double- 
shotted  guns,  killing  and  wounding  four  hundred  men. 
Nelson  shouted,  "  lirav^o  !  What  a  glorious  salute  the 
Royal  Sovereign  is  in  I  " 

Seven  or  eight  sliijis  soon  opened  on  the  Victory.  As 
Nelson  and  Captain  Hardy  walked  the  deck  a  s])linter 
struck  the  foot  of  the  latter,  tearing  the  buckle  from  his 
shoe.  "This  is  too  warm  wttrk,  Hardy,  to  last  long," 
said  Nelson  with  a  smile. 

About  half-past  one,  as  they  were  walking.  Nelson  was 
shot  by  f^ergeant  Robert  Cluillemard  of  the  French  ship 


118  BOIiATIO  NELSON. 

Eedoubtable,  who  was  stationed  in  the  rigging  of  his 
ship,  singling  out  officers  for  his  aim. 

Nelson  fell  on  his  face,  in  the  blood  where  his  secretary, 
Scott,  had  been  killed.  "  They  have  done  for  nie  at  last, 
Hardy,"  he  said;  "my  backbone  is  shot  through." 

He  was  lifted  and  carried  below,  among  the  dead  and 
dying.  On  the  way  thither,  using  one  hand,  he  covered 
his  face  and  his  decorations  with  his  handkerchief,  that 
his  men  might  not  see  who  had  fallen. 

He  was  laid  on  a  midshf^Hnan's  bed,  and  covered  with 
a  sheet.  As  often  as  a  ship  surrendered,  the  men  of  the 
Victory  cheered,  and  Nelson's  dying  face  would  light  up 
with  joy.  Nothing  could  be  done  for  the  hero,  but  to 
fan  him  with  })aper  and  give  him  lemonade  to  quench 
his  thirst.  His  thoughtfulness  of  others  Avas  strong 
even  in  his  dying  hour.  A  poor  fellow  near  him  was 
jarred  or  hurt  by  another  in  passing,  and  Nelson  re- 
proved the  man  for  his  carelessness. 

He  frequently  asked  for  Captain  Hardy,  whom  he 
loved ;  but  Hardy  was  not  able  to  leave  his  post  till  an 
hour  and  ten  mimites  after  Nelson  was  wounded. 

When  he  came,  they  shook  hands  in  silence,  and 
Hardy  turned  away  to  conceal  his  grief.  "  Well,  Hardy, 
how  goes  the  battle  ?  "  —  "  Very  well,  my  lord.  We  have 
got  twelve  or  fourteen  of  the  enemy's  ships  in  our 
possession." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Nelson,  *Hhat  none  of  our  ships  have 
struck  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord,  there  is  no  fear  of  that." 

"  I  am  a  dead  man.  Hardy.  I  am  going  fast  —  it  will 
be  all  over  with  me  soon.  Come  nearer  to  me.  Let  my 
dear  Lady  Hamilton  have  my  hair,  and  all  other  things 
belonging  to  me," 


HORATIO  NELSON.  119 

Hardy  hastened  to  the  deck  and  returned  in  about 
fifty  minutes.  Nelson  exclaimed,  "  Anchor,  Hardy,  an- 
chor !     Don't  throw  uie  overboard,  Hardy." 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly  not,"  said  Hardy. 

"  Then  you  know  what  to  do.  Take  care  of  my  dear 
Lady  Hamilton,  Hardy  !  take  care  of  ))Oor  Lady  Hamil- 
ton.    Kiss  me,  Hardy." 

The  captain  knelt  and  pressed  his  lips  to  his  cheek. 
"  Now  1  am  satisfied,"  he  said.  "  Thank  God,  I  have 
done  my  duty."  Hardy  knelt  again  and  kissed  his  fore- 
head. "  Who  is  that  ?  "  he  said  faintly.  "  It  is  J  lardy." 
"  God  bless  you.  Hardy,"  said  Nelson,  and  Hardy  went 
again  on  deck. 

To  his  cliaj)lain,  Dr.  Scott,  Nelson  said,  "  Doctor,  I 
have  not  been  a  ffreat  sinner,"  and  after  a  short  pause, 
"  Kemember  that  I  leave  I^ady  Hamilton  and  my  daugh- 
ter Horatia  as  a  legacy  to  my  country."  His  speaking 
now  became  difficult.  "Thank  God,  I  have  done  my 
duty,"  were  his  last  words.  At  half-past  four  he  j)assed 
away  peacefully.  He  lived  long  enougli  to  know  that  a 
great  victory  had  been  won. 

Of  the  thirty-three  ships  in  the  French  and  S])anish 
fleets,  nineteen  were  taken  and  destroyed  by  tlu^  English. 
Most  of  the  rest  became  prizes,  but  were  wrecked  in  a 
gale.  The  English  lost  in  killed  and  wounded  about 
three  thousand  ;  the  French  au<l  Spanish  about  five 
thousand.  "  The  greatest  sea  victory  that  the  woi-ld  had 
ever  known  was  won,"  says  W.  Clark  Hussell,  "  but  at 
such  a  cost,  that  there  was  no  man  througliiuit  the  Brit- 
ish fleet  —  there  was  no  man  indeed  in  all  England  — 
but  would  have  welcomed  defeat  sooner  than  have  paid 
the  price  of  this  wonderful  conquest." 

The  body  of  Nelson  was  carried  in  a  cask  of  brandy 


120  HORATIO  NELSON. 

in  the  Victory  till  she  reached  Spithead,  Dec.  12,  live 
weeks  alter  the  battle.  It  was  afterwards  placed  in 
the  coffin  made  from  the  mast  of  L'Orient,  enclosed  in  a 
leaden  coffin,  with  a  handsome  wooden  coffin  outside  of 
these. 

All  England  was  bowed  with  grief  at  the  death  of 
Nelson,  He  was  the  idol  of  the  nation,  despite  liis 
unhappy  marriage  and  his  unlawful  love  for  the  devoted 
Lady  Hamilton.  The  king  was  unable  to  speak  for  a 
long  time  after  he  heard  the  news,  and  the  queen  wept 
aloud.  In  Naples,  writes  Coleridge,  "  Numbers  stoi)i)ed 
and  shook  hands  Avith  me  because  they  had  seen  tlie 
tears  on  my  cheek  and  conjectured  that  I  was  an  P^ng- 
lishman ;  and  several,  as  they  held  my  hand,  tliem- 
selves  burst  into  tears." 

Nelson  was  buried  Jan.  9,  1806,  in  St.  I'aul's  Cathe- 
dral, London,  at  a  jjublic  expense  of  £14,000.  Ten 
thousand  troops  ])receded  the  body  of  the  hero  to  the 
tomb.  The  streets  were  lined  Avith  thousands  of  troo})S 
and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  weejjing  sjjectators.  The 
coffin  was  drawn  uncovered,  under  a  canoi)y,  upon  a  car, 
having  at  its  front  and  back  a  carved  representation  of 
the  head  and  stern  of  the  Victory. 

At  the  burial,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  the  sailors  who 
lowered  the  coffin  seized  tlie  flag  which  covered  it  and  tore 
it  in  shreds,  to  keep  as  mementoes  of  their  great  leader. 

No  sucli  funeral  had  been  seen  in  England.  It  was 
felt  tliat  the  battle  of  Trafalgar  liad  saved  tlie  nation 
from  an  invasion  by  Btmaparte,  and  tlierefore  no  lionor 
was  too  great  for  her  deliverer. 

''The  battle  of  Trafalgar,"  says  liourrienne,  in  his 
Memoirs  of  Napoleon,  "  j)aralyzed  our  naval  force,  and 
banished  all  hope  of  any  attempt  against  England." 


HORATIO   NELSON.  121 

England  raised  nionnments  in  many  of  her  large  cities 
to  her  heroic  dead.  In  Trafalgar  Square,  London,  stands 
the  Nelson  column,  fluted,  surmounted  by  his  statue, 
while  on  the  sides  are  representations  of  his  four  great 
battles,  St.  Vincent,  the  Nile,  Copenhagen,  and  Trafalgar, 
cast  in  gun-metal  taken  from  the  enemy  in  these  engage- 
ments.    The  four  lions  by  Laudseer  are  at  the  base. 

The  government  awarded  various  honors  to  Nelson's 
family.  An  earldom  was  conferred  on  Nelson's  brother, 
tlie  Reverend  William,  with  a  pension  of  £5,000  a  year, 
with  £120,000  that  he  might  purchase  an  estate; 
£20,000  of  this  gift  were  to  be  divided  between  Nelson's 
sisters,  Mrs.  Bolton  and  Mrs.  Matcham.  Lady  Nelson 
received  £2,000  per  annum  till  her  death,  i\Lay  4,  1831, 
twenty-tive  years  after  the  death  of  Lord  Nelson. 

Nelson's  dying  request  for  Lady  Hamilton  and  their 
child,  Iloratia,  was  disregarded  by  the  government.  Nel- 
son left  her  by  will  £2,000,  an  annuity  for  life  of  £r)(K) 
charged  on  the  Bronte  estate,  ^lerton  Place,  and  the 
yearly  interest  on  £4,000  settled  on  Iloratia  till  she 
became  eighteen. 

Lady  Hamilton  survived  Nelson  nine  years,  dying  Jan. 
IG,  1815,  in  apartments  in  the  Rue  Fran^aise  at  Calais, 
at  the  age  of  iifty-one.  She  lost  Merton  Place,  in  Surrey, 
through  debts.  She  was  imprisoned  for  debt  at  tlie 
King's  Bench,  12  Temple  IMai^e,  in  181."),  and  was  dis- 
charged after  S(mie  months,  by  a  city  alderman,  ,L  J. 
Smith,  who  felt  that  she  had  been  cruelly  treated. 
Fearing  re-arrest,  she  went  to  Calais  in  1814,  witli 
Horatia,  and  died  in  less  than  a  year.  Her  daugliter, 
wlio  was  devoted  to  her,  wrote,  years  later,  "  Although 
often  certainly  under  very  distressing  circumstances,  she 
never  experienced  actual  want." 


122  HORATIO  NELSON. 

Lady  Hiimiltou  was  buried  in  a  cemetery  just  outside 
the  city  limits,  which  was  soon  after  used  as  a  timber- 
yard,  and  all  traces  of  the  graves  disappeared.  In 
accordance  with  her  mother's  last  wishes,  Horatia  was 
taken  to  the  home  of  Mrs.  Afatcham,  Lord  Nelson's 
sister,  where  she  remained  two  years,  and  then  resided 
Avith  Mr.  Bolton,  Lord  Nelson's  brother-in-law,  till  her 
marriage,  in  February,  1(S22,  to  the  Rev.  Philip  Ward, 
Vicar  of  Tenterden  in  Kent.  She  became  the  mother 
of  a  large  family,  and  died  INIarch  6,  1881,  in  the  eighty- 
first  year  of  her  ago. 

The  Rev.  William  Nelson,  made  an  earl  by  the  successes 
of  his  brother,  was  succeeded  in  1835  by  his  nephew, 
Thomas  Bolton,  as  second  earl,  who  took  the  name 
Nelson.  Thomas  was  succeeded  the  same  year  by  his 
son  Horatio,  the  third  earl.  Lord  Nelson  is  a  gradu- 
ate of  Cambridge,  where  he  took  the  degree  of  M.A. 
in  1844.  He  married  a  daughter  of  the  second  earl  of 
Normanton  in  1845. 


JOHN    GUNYAN. 


JOHN   BUNYAN. 


Thk  first  book  wliich  Benjamin  Franklin  owned  was 
"Pilgrim's  Progress."     This  lie  read  over  and  over. 

Sir  Humphry  Davy,  the  great  scientist,  could  repeat 
a  large  part  of  '•  Pilgrim's  I'rogress "  before  he  could 
read  it.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  read  and  loved  it  when 
he  was  six  years  old. 

Rufus  Choate,  the  great  orator,  says  E.  P.  AVhip})le, 
"  read  '  Pilgrim's  Progress '  when  lie  was  six  years  old  ; 
and  he  not  only  got  it  by  lieart,  but  eloquently  ex- 
pounded it  to  his  companions,  dramatically  reproducing 
the  scenes,  incidents,  and  characters  of  thtft  wonder- 
ful allegory,  so  that  the  little  people  he  addressed  were 
made  to  see  in  it  what  he  saw." 

Dr.  Thomas  Arnold  said,  "  I  cannot  trust  myself  to 
read  the  account  of  Christian  going  up  to  the  celestial 
gate,  after  his  passage  through  the  river  of  death.  .  .  . 
I  hold  John  P>uiiyan,"  he  said,  "  to  have  been  a  man  of 
incomparably  greater  genius  than  any  of  them  [our  old 
divines],  and  to  have  given  a  far  truer  and  more  edifying 
picture  of  Christianity." 

'•'Pilgrim's  Progn^ss '  has  been  translated  into  more 
languages,"  says  Canon  Edmund  Venables,  in  his  life 
of  John  Bunyan,  "  than  any  other  book  in  the  English 
tongue ;  "  and  Southey  thinks,  "  there  is  no  European 
language  into  which  it  has  not  been  translated." 

123 


124  JOHN  liUNYAN. 

Who  wrote  it  ?  A  travelling  tinker,  in  prison ;  "  A 
man,"  says  James  Anthony  Froiule,  "whose  writings 
have  for  two  centuries  affected  the  spiritual  opinions  of 
the  English  race  in  every  part  of  the  world  more  power- 
fully than  any  book  or  books  except  the  Bible." 

John  Bunyan  was  born  at  Elstow,  a  little  village 
about  a  mile  from  Bedford,  England,  in  1G28.  "  Few 
villages,"  says  Canon  Venables,  "  are  so  little  modernized 
as  Elstow,  The  old,  half-timbered  cottages  with  over- 
hanging stories,  peaked  dormers,  and  gabled  porches, 
tapestried  with  roses  and  honeysuckles,  must  be  much 
what  they  were  in  Bunyan's  days." 

The  parish  church  is  a  part  of  the  old  Benedictine 
nunnery,  founded  here  in  1078  by  Judith,  niece  of 
William  the  Conqueror,  in  honor  of  the  mother  of  the 
Enijieror  Constantine. 

Thomas  Bunyan,  the  father  of  the  renowed  author 
and  preacher,  Avas  a  tinker,  ''a  mender  of  pots  and 
kettles."  He  was  married  to  his  first  wife,  Anne  Finney, 
before  he  was  twenty  years  of  age.  She  died  four  years 
later,  apparently  without  cliildren  ;  and  Tliomas  was  soon 
married  again  to  Margaret  Bentley,  who  became  the 
mother  of  John  Bunyan. 

Poor  as  the  i)arents  were,  "  of  that  rank,"  says  l')Unyan, 
"  that  is  meanest  and  most  despised  of  all  the  families 
in  the  land  ...  it  i)leased  God  to  jnit  it  into  their 
hearts  to  put  me  to  scliool,  to  learn  both  to  read  and 
write." 

There  was  a  school  at  Bedford  at  this  time,  founded 
in  Queen  Mary's  reign  by  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London, 
Sir  William  Harpur.  Thither  prol)ably  the  lad  walked 
day  after  day,  but  he  seems  to  have  learned  little,  and 
that  little  he  soon  forgot. 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  125 

At  an  early  age  he  was  obliged  to  help  his  father 
at  the  forge,  where,  he  says,  he  was  "  brought  up  in  a 
very  mean  condition  among  a  company  of  poor  country- 
men." 

He  soon  learned  bad  habits  from  the  men  or  boys 
around  him.  "  From  a  child,"  he  says,  "  I  had  but  few 
equals  (considering  my  years,  which  were  then  but 
tender  and  few)  for  cursing,  swearing,  lying,  and  blas- 
pheming the  holy  name  of  God.  Yea,  so  settled  and 
rooted  was  I  in  these  things,  that  they  became  as  a 
second  nature  to  me." 

In  the  plain  liome  he  must  have  been  taught  some 
religious  truths  by  his  parents,  for  at  ten  years  of  age  he 
was  greatly  disturbed  on  account  of  his  sins.  These  "did 
so  offend  the  Lord  that  even  in  my  childhood  he  did 
scare  and  affright  me  with  fearful  dreams,  and  did  terrify 
me  with  dreadful  visions.  .  .  .  These  things  did  so 
distress  my  soul,  that  then  in  the  midst  of  my  many 
sports  and  childish  vanities,  amidst  my  vain  companions, 
I  was  often  cast  down  and  afflicted  in  my  mind  there- 
with ;  yet  could  I  not  let  go  my  sins." 

Books  the  lad  did  not  read,  except  the  not  very  edify- 
ing life  of  Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton,  because  tlie  poor 
tinker's  home  afforded  none. 

In  the  midst  of  his  reckless  living  —  he  himself  protests 
that  he  was  never  immoral  —  several  remarkable  ])reser- 
vations  from  deatli  liad  a  strong  influence  on  his  mind. 
Twice  he  narrowly  escaped  drowning,  once  in  the  river 
Ouse  at  Ikulford,  and  again  in  "  a  creek  of  the  sea."  At 
another  time,  he  says,  "  Being  in  the  fields  with  one  of 
my  companions,  it  chanced  that  an  adder  passed  over 
the  highway  ;  so  I,  having  a  stick  in  my  hand,  struck  her 
over  the  back,  and  having  stunned  her,  I   forced  open 


126  JOHN  BUNT  AN. 

her  mouth  with  my  stick,  and  phicked  her  sting  out 
with  my  fingers ;  by  which  act,  had  not  God  been  merci- 
ful to  me,  I  might,  by  my  desperateness,  have  brought 
myself  to  my  end." 

When  John  Bunyan  was  about  seventeen,  he  was  for 
a  time  engaged  in  the  civil  wars  of  the  reign  of  Charles 
I.  Whether  he  fought  for  the  king  or  with  the  Parlia- 
mentary forces  will  never  be  known.  Dr.  John  Brown, 
minister  at  Bedford,  thinks  he  was  drafted  to  fight 
against  the  Royalist  pai-ty. 

Here  again  he  was  marvellously  preserved.  "  When 
I  was  a  soldier,  I,  with  others,  was  drawn  out  to  go  to 
such  a  place  to  besiege  it ;  but  when  I  was  just  ready  to 
go,  one  of  the  company  desired  to  go  in  my  room ;  to 
which,  when  I  had  consented,  he  took  my  place ;  and 
coming  to  the  siege,  as  he  stood  sentinel,  he  was  shot 
in  the  head  and  died.  Here  were  judgment  and  mercy ; 
but  neither  of  them  did  awaken  my  soul  to  right- 
eousness." 

Before  Bunyan  was  twenty,  a  most  important  matter 
came  into  his  life.  He  met  a  ])oor  girl,  an  ori)han,  wliose 
name  even  is  not  known,  and  married  her.  "  I  liglited 
on  a  wife,"  he  says,  *'  Avliose  father  was  counted  godly. 
She  also  would  be  often  telling  me  what  a  godh'  man  her 
father  was,  and  how  he  would  reprove  and  correct  vice, 
both  in  his  house  and  amongst  his  neighbors;  what  a 
strict  and  holy  life  he  lived  in  his  day,  both  in  word  and 
deed.  .  .  . 

"  This  woman  and  I  came  togetlier  as  poor  as  poor 
might  be,  not  having  so  much  household  stuff  as  a  dish 
or  spoon  betwixt  us  both.  B\it  she  had  for  her  portion 
two  books,  *  The  Plain  Man's  Pathway  to  Heaven,'  and 
'The  Practice  of  Piety,'  wliicli  lier  father  liad  left  her 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  127 

when  he  died.  In  these  two  books  I  sometimes  read 
with  her.  I  found  some  things  pleasing  to  me,  but  all 
this  while  I  met  with  no  conviction."  However,  they 
created  in  him  '•'  some  desire  to  religion." 

"  The  Practice  of  Piety,"  by  Dr.  Lewis  Bay  ley.  Bishop 
of  Bangor  in  King  James's  time,  was  translated  into 
several  languages,  and  passed  through  more  than  fifty 
editions  during  a  century.  The  other  book  was  written 
by  the  Rev.  Arthur  Dent,  the  Puritan  pastor  of  Shoebury 
in  Essex. 

Young  Bunyan  changed  his  outward  life  after  his 
marriage.  He  says,  ''  I  fell  in  with  the  religion  of  the 
times,  to  go  to  church  twice  a  day,  very  devoutly  to  say 
and  sing  as  the  others  did,  yet  retaining  my  wicked 
life." 

Exceedingly  fond  of  athletic  sports,  it  was  the  fashion 
of  the  day  to  enjoy  them  on  Sunday  after  the  sermon. 
Sometimes  the  i)eople  danced  on  the  village  green,  or 
rang  the  bells  for  hours,  or  played  tip-cat  or  other 
sports. 

James  I.  had  issued  a  proclamation  that  '•'  liis  good 
people  should  not  be  disturbed,  letted,  or  discouraged, 
after  the  end  of  the  divine  service  from  any  lawful 
recreations,  such  as  dancing,  either  of  men  or  women  ; 
archery  for  men  ;  leaping,  vaulting,  or  any  such  harmless 
recreations." 

Bunyan's  minister,  Vicar  Hall,  was  op])osed  to  tliese 
forms  of  Sabbath  breaking,  and  denounced  them  from 
the  pulpit  in  words  whicli  the  young  married  man 
thought  were  especially  aimed  at  him.  He  went  home 
''with  a  great  burden  upon  his  spirit,"  but  after  dinner, 
"shook  the  sermon  out  of  his  mind,"  and  went  out  to 
play  tip-cat  on  the  green. 


128  JOHN  BUNYAN. 

As  Bunyan  was  in  the  midst  of  the  game,  "having 
struck  the  cat  one  blow  from  the  hole,"  he  says,  "just  as 
I  was  about  to  strike  it  a  second  time,  a  voice  did  sud- 
denly dart  from  heaven  into  my  soul,  which  said,  '  AVilt 
thou  leave  thy  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or  have  thy  sins 
and  go  to  hell  ?  '  At  this  I  was  put  into  an  exceeding 
maze.  Wherefore,  leaving  my  cat  on  the  ground,  I 
looked  up  to  heaven,  and  was  as  if  I  had,  with  the  eyes 
of  my  understanding,  seen  the  Lord  Jesus  looking  down 
ui)on  me,  as  being  very  hotly  displeased  with  me." 

The  impression  soon  wore  away,  and  Bunyan  became 
as  reckless  as  ever.  A  month  went  by,  and  "  one  day," 
he  says,  "as  I  was  standing  at  a  neighbor's  shop-window, 
cursing  and  swearing,  and  playing  the  madman,  after 
my  wonted  manner,  there  sat  Avithin  tlie  woman  of  the 
house,  and  heard  me;  who,  though  she  was  a  very  loose, 
ungodly  wretch,  yet  protested  that  I  swore  and  cursed 
at  that  most  fearful  rate,  that  she  was  made  to  tremble 
to  liear  me  ;  and  told  me  further,  that  I  was  the  ungod- 
liest  fellow  for  swearing  that  she  ever  heard  in  all  lier 
life ;  and  that  I,  by  tlius  doing,  was  enougli  to  si)oil  all 
the  youth  in  the  whole  town,  if  they  came  but  in  my 
company." 

liunyan  was  ashamed  and  hung  his  head.  "While  I 
stood  there,"  he  says,  "  I  wished  with  all  my  heart  that 
I  might  be  a  little  child  again,  that  my  father  might 
teach  me  to  speak  without  tliis  wicked  way  of  swearing; 
for,  thought  1,  I  am  so  much  accustomed  to  it,  that  it  is 
in  vain  for  me  to  tliink  of  reformation ;  for,  I  thought, 
that  could  never  be.  .  .  .  How  it  came  to  pass  I  know 
not ;  but  I  did  from  this  time  forward  so  leave  off  my 
swearing,  that  it  was  a  great  wonder  to  myself  to  ob- 
serve it.    And  whereas,  before,  I  knew  not  how  to  speak 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  129 

unless  I  put  an  oath  before  and  another  behind,  to  make 
the  words  have  authority  ;  now  I  could  speak  better 
without  it,  and  with  more  pleasantness  than  ever  I 
could  before." 

He  began  to  read  the  Bible  at  the  suggestion  of  a 
friend,  and  attempted  to  keep  the  commandments.  He 
had  a  hard  struggle  in  giving  up  his  amusements. 
AVhile  sure  that  bell-ringing  was  a  foolish  use  of  time, 
he  "  hankered  after  it  still,"  and  would  for  some  time 
go  and  see  his  old  companions  ring.  He  could  not  bring 
himself  to  give  up  dancing  for  a  full  year. 

His  neighbors  began  to  think  him  very  pious,  and  he 
was  "  proud  of  his  godliness.  ...  I  thought,"  he  says, 
''  I  pleased  God  as  well  as  any  man  in  England." 

His  self-satisfaction  was  soon  spoiled.  '•  Upon  a  day," 
he  says,  *'  the  good  providence  of  God  called  me  to 
Bedford,  to  work  at  my  calling ;  and  in  one  of  the  streets 
of  that  town  I  came  where  tliere  were  three  or  four 
women  sitting  at  a  door  in  the  sun,  talking  about  tlie 
things  of  God.  And  being  now  willing  to  hear  wliat 
they  said,  I  drew  near,  to  liear  their  discourse  —  for  I 
was  now  a  brisk  talker  of  myself  in  tlie  matters  of  re- 
ligion—  but  I  may  say,  I  heard,  but  understood  not ;  for 
they  were  far  above,  out  of  my  reach. 

"  Their  talk  was  about  a  new  birth  —  the  work  of  God 
in  tlieir  hearts;  as  also,  liow  they  were  convinced  of 
tlieir  miserable  state  by  nature.  They  talked  how 
God  liad  visited  their  souls  Avith  his  love  in  the  Lord 
,Iesus.  .  .  .  Methought,  they  spoke  as  if  joy  did 
make  them  speak.  They  si)oke  with  such  pleasantness 
of  Scripture  language,  and  with  such  appearance  of 
grace  in  all  they  said,  that  they  were  to  me,  as  if  I 
had  found  a  new  world  ;  as  if  they  were   people  that 


130  JOUN  BUN  VAN. 

dwelt  alone,  and  were  not  to  be  reckoned  among  their 
neighbors.  .  .  . 

"  I  left,  but  their  talk  and  discourse  went  with  me ; 
also  my  heart  would  tarry  with  them,  for  I  was  greatly 
affected  by  their  words.  .  .  .  Therefore,  I  woidd  often 
make  it  my  business  to  be  going  again  and  again  into 
the  company  of  these  poor  people ;  for  I  could  not  stay 
away." 

The  result  vs'as  "  a  very  great  softness  and  tenderness 
of  heart,  and  a  desire  to  meditate  on  good  things." 

These  poor  women  could  not  have  realized  the  wonder- 
ful work  they  were  doing  in  reforming  the  life  of  this 
travelling  vender  of  pots  and  kettles.  They  were  simply 
using  every  opportunity  for  good  which  came  in  their 
way,  and  the  seed  was  now  destined  to  bring  forth  an 
hundred-fold. 

They  followed  up  the  interest  already  awakened  in 
Bunyan's  heart.  They  were  in  earnest  to  serve  their 
Lord.  They  introduced  Bunyan  to  their  minister,  the 
Rev.  John  Gifford. 

This  Free  Church  was  founded  in  Bedford  in  1650, 
with  twelve  members.  "  Now  the  principle  ujwn  which 
they  thus  entered  into  fellowship  one  with  another,  and 
upon  which  they  did  afterwards  receive  those  that  were 
added  to  their  body  and  fellowship,  was  faith  in  Christ 
and  holiness  in  life,  without  ros])e('t  to  this  or  tliat  cir- 
cumstance or  opinion  in  outward  and  circumstantial 
things."  Th(!  llt'v.  Jolin  Gifford  is  usually  spoken  of  as  a 
Baptist,  tliough  Dr.  I^>rt)wn  iinds  no  proof  for  or  against. 
In  Gifford's  last  letter  to  Ids  church,  written  just  before 
his  death,  he  appeals  to  them  not  to  divide  the  church 
on  such  matters  as  "  bajjtism,  laying  on  of  hands,  anoint- 
ing with  oil,  psalms,  or  any  externals." 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  131 

Buiiyan  himself,  in  a  work  written  in  1673,  "  Differ- 
ences in  Judgment  about  Water  Baptism  no  Bar  to  Com- 
munion," implies  that  he  believes  in  immersion,  but  his 
children  were  baptized  in  their  infancy. 

Mr.  Gifford  had  been  a  young  major  in  the  king's 
army,  was  defeated,  and  with  eleven  others  condemned 
to  the  gallows.  On  the  night  before  he  was  to  be  exe- 
cuted, his  sister  visited  him  in  prison.  The  guards  were 
asleep,  and  his  fellow-prisoners  were  drunk.  She  urged 
liim  to  escape  to  the  fields.  He  did  so,  and  for  three 
days  hid  himself  in  a  ditch,  and  lived  on  water.  Coming 
to  Bedford,  he  practised  as  a  physician,  but  continued 
his  bad  habits,  drinking  and  losing  heavily  through 
gambling. 

In  the  midst  of  such  a  course  of  life  he  happened  one 
day  to  take  up  a  book  written  by  an  eminent  scholar 
and  Puritan  preacher,  the  Bev.  Robert  Bolton,  born  at 
Blackburn,  Lancasliire,  1572.  It  was  probably  tlie  vol- 
ume entitled,  "The  Four  Last  Tilings,  and  Directions 
for  Walking  with  (fod,"  published  in  1(>2G.  Mr.  Bolton 
died  in  1G31,  with  these  words  ui)ou  his  lips:  "By  tlie 
wonderful  mercies  of  God,  I  am  as  full  of  comfort  as 
my  heart  can  hold,  and  feel  nothing  in  my  soul  but 
Christ,  with  whom  I  heartily  desire  to  be." 

Mr.  Bolton's  book  was  the  means  of  the  conversion  of 
Gifford,  who,  in  turn,  led  liuny.an  into  the  light,  and, 
consequently,  to  tlie  writing  of  that  wonderful  book, 
"The  I'ilgrim's  Progress,"  in  which  (Jilford  is  supposed 
to  "be  the  Evangelist,  who  points  out  to  Pilgrim  the 
wicket  gate.  Who  shall  measures  the  jiower  of  a  good 
book  ! 

For  months,  even  years,  Bunyan  passed  througli  the 
struggles  which  Pilgrim  found  in  his  difficult  journey. 


132  JOUN  BUN Y AN. 

He  has  glowingly  depicted  these  in  his  "  Grace  Abound- 
ing to  the  Chief  of  Sinners." 

Sometimes  he  was  in  the  de})ths  of  despair,  because  he 
felt  that  his  sins  liad  been  too  great  to  he  forgiven.  Then 
he  feared  that  he  was  not  one  of  the  elect,  or  that  he  had 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost. 
Then  doubts  about  the  Bible  and  (lod  took  possession 
of  him,  till,  under  the  mental  strain,  his  health  became 
affected,  and  consumi)tion  seemed  imminent. 

Sometimes  a  promise  from  the  Bible  would  bring  him 
the  greatest  joy.  "  I  was  now  so  taken  with  tlie  love  and 
mercy  of  God,"  he  writes,  "  that  I  tliought  I  could  liave 
spoken  of  it  even  to  the  very  crows  that  sat  upon  the 
ploughed  lands  before  me,  luid  they  been  capable  to  have 
understood  me." 

In  these  days  of  alternate  grief  and  joy,  lUniyan  came 
upon  an  old  copy  of  Luther's  "  Commentary  on  the  Gala- 
tians  ;  "  "  so  old,  that  it  was  ready  to  fall  i)iece  from  i)iece 
if  I  did  but  turn  it  over.  ...  1  found  my  conditions  as 
largely  and  })rofoundly  han<lled,  in  his  experience,  as  if 
his  book  had  been  written  out  of  my  heart.  1  do  prefer 
this  book  of  Martin  Luther  (excepting  the  Bible)  before 
all  the  books  that  ever  I  have  seen,  as  most  fit  for  a 
wounded  conscience." 

This  book  was  also  most  effective  in  the  experience  of 
John  Wesley.  "  I  went,"  Wesley  wrote,  "  very  unwill- 
ingly, to  a  society  in  Aldersgate  Street,  where  one  was 
reading  Luther's  ]*reface  to  tlie  Ejnstle  to  the  Galatians. 
About  a  quarter  before  nine,  while  lie  was  describing  the 
change  which  God  works  in  the  heart  through  faith  in 
Christ,  I  felt  my  heart  strangely  warmed.  I  felt  I  did 
trust  in  Christ,  Christ  alone,  for  salvation,  and  an  assur- 
ance was  given  me  that  he  had  taken  away  my  sins." 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  183 

Finally,  "  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  understand- 
ing "  came  into  Bunyan's  heart.  As  lie  was  walking  in 
the  field,  he  seemed  to  hear  the  sentence,  "  Thy  right- 
eousness is  in  heaven ; "  "  and  methought  I  saw,"  he 
says,  "  with  the  eyes  of  my  soul,  Jesus  Christ  at  God's 
right  hand,  there  I  say,  as  my  righteousness,  so  that 
wherever  I  was,  or  whatever  I  was  doing,  God  could  not 
say  of  me,  he  wants  my  righteousness,  for  that  was  just 
before  him.  Now  did  my  chains  fall  off  my  legs  indeed. 
Now  went  I  home  rejoicing  for  the  grace  and  love  of 
God." 

During  these  years  of  anxiety,  Bunyan  worked  hard 
with  his  hands,  feeling,  as  did  his  honest  father,  that  it 
was  one  of  the  first  of  duties  to  be  "  very  careful  to 
maintain  his  family."  He  had  been  moderately  success- 
ful at  Jiis  trade,  as  a  contemporary  bi()gra})her  writes,  that 
"  God  had  increased  his  stores  so  that  he  lived  in  great 
credit  among  his  neighbors." 

In  the  year  1653,  Avhen  he  was  twenty-five,  —  the  year 
in  which  Oliver  Cromwell  was  made  Lord  Protector  of 
England,  —  he  became  a  member  of  Mr.  Gifford's  church. 
He  probably  removed  to  Bedford  from  Elstow,  two  years 
later,  and  was  made  a  deacon  in  the  church. 

About  this  time  his  lovely  wife,  to  Avhom  he  owed  so 
much,  died,  leaving  four  children,  (me  of  them,  his  idol- 
ized blind  daughter,  Mary,  born  in  1G;")0.  His  behtvcd 
friend  and  pastor,  Mr.  (Jifford,  died  in  Septendier  of  the 
same  year  as  his  wife. 

The  members  of  the  church,  realizing  that  the  unedu- 
cated tinker  was  gifted  in  speech,  and  believing  in  his 
earnestness,  asked  him  "  to  speak  a  word  of  exhortation 
unto  them." 

At  first,  modest  and  shrinking  as  he  was,  <'  it  did  mudx 


lo4  JOHN  BUN Y AN. 

dash  aiul  abash  liis  spirit,"  but  being  entreated,  he  spoke 
twice,  "  but  with  much  weakness  and  inhrniity." 

After  this  he  was  asked  to  go  with  others  and  hold 
meetings  in  the  country  roundabout ;  and  finally,  "  after 
solemn  prayer,  with  fasting,  he  was  set  apart  to  the  more 
ordinary  and  public  preaching  of  the  Word." 

"  ^ly  great  desire,"  he  says,  '-in  my  fidtilling  my  min- 
istry, was  to  get  into  the  darkest  places  of  tlie  country, 
even  amongst  those  people  that  were  furtherest  off  of 
profession.  ...  I  preached  what  1  felt,  what  1  smart- 
ingly  did  feel.  .  .  .  Indeed,  I  have  been  jis  one  sent  to 
them  from  the  dead.  I  went  myself  in  chains,  to  preach 
to  them  in  chains ;  and  carried  that  lire  in  my  conscience, 
that  I  i)ersuaded  them  to  be  aware  of." 

Later,  he  says,  after  two  years  "crying  out  against 
men's  sins,"  he  changed  his  manner  of  ])reaching ;  "  I 
did  labor  much  to  hold  forth  Jesus  Clirist  in  all  his 
offices,  relations,  and  benefits  unto  the  world." 

On  one  occasion,  having  preached  Avith  much  feeling, 
one  of  his  friends  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  spoke  of  the 
sweet  sermon  he  had  delivered.  "  Ay,"  said  the  self- 
searching  preacher,  "  you  need  not  remind  me  of  that, 
for  the  devil  told  me  of  it  before  1  was  out  of  the 
pulpit." 

l>unyan  ])re;iched  wherever  there  was  an  oi)en  door,  — 
in  a  barn,  a  church,  or  on  the  village  green.  Crowds 
came  to  listen,  —  some  from  curiosity,  —  and  great  num- 
bers were  converted. 

"No  sucli  1  (readier,"  says  Froude,  "to  the  uneducated 
English  masses  was  to  be  found  within  the  four  seas." 

Among  the  crowd  gathered  in  a  churchyard  in  Cam- 
bridgeshire on  a  week-day,  was  a  Cambridge  s(;holar, 
"  none  of  the  soberest,"  who  liad  come  to   hear  "  the 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  135 

tinker  prate,"  and  gave  a  boy  twopence  to  hold  Ids 
horse  while  he  listened.  "  But  God  met  him  there  by 
his  ministry,  so  that  he  came  out  much  changed;  and 
would  by  his  good  will  hear  none  but  the  tinker  for  a 
long  time  after,  he  himself  becoming  a  very  eminent 
preacher  in  that  country  afterwards." 

Another  Cambridge  University  man  asked  l^unyan, 
'•  How  dare  you  preacli,  seeing  you  have  not  the  original, 
being  not  a  scholar  ?  " 

"  Have  you  tlie  original  ?  "  asked  Bunyan. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  scholar. 

''  Nay,  bnt  have  you  the  very  self-same  original  copies 
that  were  written  by  the  penmen  of  the  Scriptures, 
projthets  and  apostles  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  we  have  the  true  C()})i('S  of 
tliese  originals." 

*'  JIow  do  you  know  that ''  "  said  Bunyan. 

"  How  ?  "  said  the  scholar,  "  why,  avi;  believe  what  we 
have  is  a  true  coi)y  of  tlie  original." 

"  Then,"  said  Bunyan,  ''so  do  I  believe  our  English 
Bible  is  a  true  copy  of  the  original."  Then  away  rode 
the  scholar. 

lUinyan  met  with  many  obstacles  in  his  preacliiiig. 
"When  Dr.  AVilliani  Dell,  the  Puritan  master  of  Cains 
College,  Cambridge,  asked  him  to  preach  in  the  parisli 
church  on  Christmas,  tlie  orthodox  parishioners  were 
indignant.  Some  of  the  luiiversity  professors  were 
'•angry  with  the  tinker  because  he  strove  to  mend  souls 
as  well  as  kettles  and  pans."  Others  declared  liim  a 
witcli,  a  higliwayman,  and  ai'cused  liiiu  of  nearly  every 
vice.  All  these  things  deejdy  wounded  the  earnest  man, 
but  he  kept  steadily  at  work. 

His  tirst  book,  abt)ut  two  hundred  pages,  '*  Some  Cos- 


136  JOHN  BUNYAN. 

pel  Truths  Opened  according  to  the  Scriptures,"  was 
published  in  London,  in  1656,  when  Bunyan  was  twenty- 
eight  years  old.  The  Rev.  John  Burton,  the  ])astor  who 
succeeded  Mr.  Gifford,  wrote  the  introduction,  and  com- 
mended the  young  author  as  one  who  liad  "  neither  the 
greatness  nor  tlie  wisdom  of  the  world  to  commend  liim 
.  ,  .  not  being  chosen  out  of  an  earthly  but  out  of  a 
heavenly  university,  —  the  Church  of  Christ." 

This  book  being  replied  to  by  Edward  Burrougli,  a 
Quaker,  defending  his  sect,  Bunyan  wrote  a  second  book, 
"  A  Vindication  of  Gospel  Truths  Opened."  His  third 
book,  published  in  1658,  a  few  days  before  Oliver  Crom- 
well's death,  was  an  exposition  of  the  parable  of  the  rich 
man  and  Lazarus.  The  volume  went  through  nine  edi- 
tions in  the  author's  lifetime.  His  fourth  book,  published 
in  1659,  was  entitled  "  The  Doctrine  of  Law  and  Grace 
Unfolded." 

All  were  written  in  simjde  language,  witli  the  earnest- 
ness of  one,  who,  as  he  said,  grieved  more  over  the  back- 
sliding of  one  of  his  converts  "  than  if  one  of  my  own 
children  were  going  to  the  grave." 

With  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.  the  rule  of  Puri- 
tanism was  over.  Dissenters'  chapels  were  shut  up. 
The  worshippers  were  commanded  to  attend  tlu^  Estab- 
lished Church.  Bunyan  had  preached  for  live  years; 
and  he  could  not  give  up  his  work,  even  now  that  his 
pulpit  was  closed  by  law.  He  continued  to  preach  in 
barns  and  private  houses. 

On  Nov.  12,  1660,  he  went  to  the  little  hamlet  of 
Lower  Samsell,  near "  Harlington,  to  preach.  Some  one 
communicated  this  fact  to  a  magistrate,  and  a  warrant 
was  issued  for  his  arrest.  This  was  told  him,  and  lie 
had  time  to  escape ;  but  he  said  if  he  were  to  Hee,  "  the 


JOHN   BUN  VAN.  137 

weak  and  newly  converted  brethren  would  be  afraid  to 
stand."     He  would  never  play  the  coward. 

He  opened  the  meeting  with  prayer,  and  began  to 
speak  from  the  words,  "  Dost  thou  believe  on  the  Son 
of  God  ?  " 

AVhen  the  officers  arrived,  lie  was  ordered  to  cease 
speaking.  He  replied  "that  he  was  about  his  Master's 
business,  and  must  rather  obey  his  Lord's  voice  than 
that  of  man."  However,  knowing  that  resistance  was 
useless,  as  he  was  arrested  in  the  king's  name,  he  was 
led  away  to  jn-ison  "with  God's  comfort,"  he  says,  "in 
my  poor  soul."  He  would  not  promise  to  discontinue 
preaching,  saying  rather,  "If  I  were  out  of  prison  to-day, 
I  would  ])reach  the  gospel  again  to-mornnv."  He  was 
sentenced  to  remain  in  prison  for  three  months;  if  at 
the  end  of  that  time  he  refused  to  give  up  preaching,  he 
would  be  sent  away  fnmx  his  country,  and  if  he  came 
back  witliout  license,  he  woidd  be  lianged.  Those  were 
times  of  dreadful  intolerance,  and  yet  in  tliis  age  we 
have  not  ceased  to  be  intolerant  of  tliose  whose;  beliefs 
are  not  like  our  own  ! 

liunyan  had  recently  married  a  second  time,  and  liis 
wife  was  dangerously  ill.  He  was  a  man  of  deep  affec- 
tions and  1ov(h1  his  liome.  He  said,  "  What  a  man  is  at 
liome,  tliat  lie  is  indeed.  ^ly  house  and  my  closet  show 
most  what  I  am,  to  my  family  and  to  the  angels,  though 
not  to  the  world.'' 

He  wrote  in  prison,  "The  parting  with  my  wife  and 
poor  children  hath  often  been  to  me  in  this  ])lace  as  the 
pulling  of  my  flesh  from  my  bones ;  and  that  not  only 
because  I  am  too,  too  fond  of  those  great  mercies,  but 
also  because  I  should  have  often  brought  to  my  mind 
the  hardships,  miseries,  and  wants  my  poor  family  was 


138  JOUN  BUN Y AN. 

like  to  meet  with  should  I  be  taken  from  them,  especially 
my  poor  blind  child,  who  lay  nearer  my  heart  than  all  I 
had  beside.  Poor  child,  thought  I,  wliat  sorrow  art  thou 
like  to  have  for  thy  portion  in  tliis  world  !  Thou  must  be 
beaten,  suffer  hunger,  cold,  nakedness,  and  a  thousand 
calamities,  though  1  cannot  now  endure  the  wind  sliould 
blow  on  thee. 

"  But,  yet,  thought  I,  I  must  venture  all  with  God, 
though  it  goeth  to  the  quick  to  leave  you.  I  was  as  a 
man  who  was  pulling  down  his  house  upon  the  head  of 
his  wife  and  children." 

As  the  coronation  of  Charles  II.  took  ])lace  in  the 
spring  of  ICGl,  and  it  was  customary  to  pardon  prisoners 
under  sentence  for  any  offence  short  of  felony,  it  was 
hoped  by  the  followers  of  Bunyan  tliat  he  Avould  be  re- 
leased. As  the  local  autliorities  did  not  put  liis  name  on 
the  list  of  those  who  might  properly  be  pardoned,  liis 
young  wife,  Elizabeth,  scarcely  recovered  from  her  ill- 
ness, travelled  to  London,  and  with  great  courage  made 
her  way  to  the  House  of  Lords,  and  presented  lier  peti- 
tion to  one  of  the  peers.  He  received  her  kindly,  but 
told  her  that  her  husband's  case  must  be  left  with  the 
judges  at  tlie  next  assizes. 

Three  times  Elizabetli  Bunyan,  "  with  abashed  face 
and  trembling  heart,"  stood  before  the  judges,  pleading 
for  her  husband.  One  of  tlie  judges,  Sir  Matthew  Hale, 
was  very  kind  to  lier,  .though  lu>,  feared  he  could  not 
help  her,  as  the  law  was  against  her  husband.  The 
other  judge,  Twisden,  was  brutal  in  his  manner,  so  that 
she  feared  he  would  strike  her. 

Unsuccessful,  the  poor  woman  went  back  to  her  home, 
and  John  Bunyan  remained  for  twelve  long  years  in 
prison. 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  139 

For  the  first  six  months  Bunyan  was  allowed  consider- 
able liberty  by  his  sympathetic  jailer.  He  went  to  some 
of  the  meetings  of  the  Baptists,  and  to  his  home.  Some 
of  the  bishops  heard  of  it,  and  sent  a  messenger  from 
London  to  ascertitin  if  this  were  really  so.  The  officer 
was  told  to  call  at  night  at  the  prison.  It  happened 
that  Hunyan  had  been  allowed  to  remain  at  his  home 
that  night,  but  he  became  so  uneasy  that  he  told  liis 
Avife  he  must  go  back  to  prison.  It  was  so  late  when 
lie  returned  that  the  jailer  cliided  him  for  coming  at  all. 

Soon  afterward  the  messenger  arrived.  "  Are  the 
prisoners  all  safe?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  Jolm  Bunyan  safe  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  me  see  him." 

Bunyan  was  called,  and  fortunately  was  able  to  ap- 
pear. When  the  messenger  was  gone,  the  jailer  said, 
"  Well,  you  may  go  out  again  just  when  you  think 
proper,  for  you  know  when  to  return  better  than  I  can 
tell  you."  Soon,  however,  the  jailer  was  censured,  and 
came  near  losing  his  position,  while  Bunyan  himsflf  was 
not  permitted  "  to  look  out  at  the  door."  His  name  does 
not  a[»pear  again  at  a  church  nu'eting  for  seven  years. 

Banyan's  prison  life  was  a  very  busy  one.  He  did 
not,  says  his  friend  and  biographer,  the  Kev.  ('harles  Doe, 
*•  spend  liis  time  in  a  sui)ine  and  careless  manner,  or  eat 
the  bread  of  idh'uess.  For  tlicre  I  liave  been  witness, 
that  liis  own  hands  have  miiiistered  to  liis  and  to  his 
family's  necessities,  by  making  many  hundred  gross  of 
long,  tagged,  thread  laces,  to  fill  up  the  vacancies  of  his 
time,  which  he  had  learned  for  that  purpose  since  he 
had  been  in  prison.     There  also  I  surveyed  his  library, 


140  JOHN   BUN  VAN. 

the  least  and  yet  the  best  tliat  ever  I  saw,  consisting 
only  of  two  books,  a  Bible  and  tlie  *  Book  of  Martyrs.'  " 

Banyan's  Bible  and  his  Foxe's  **  Book  of  Martyrs " 
came  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Bohn,  the  London  pub- 
lisher, and  were  purchased  from  hinf  for  the  Bedford 
library,  where  they  have  been  seen  by  thousands  of 
visitors. 

"With  those  two  books,"  says  Fronde,  "  Bunyan  had 
no  cause  to  complain  of  intellectual  destitution.  Foxe's 
Martyrs,  if  he  had  a  complete  edition  of  it,  wonld  have 
given  him  a  very  adecpiate  knowledge  of  history.  .  .  . 
The  Bible,  thoroughly  known,  is  a  literature  of  itself  — 
the  rarest  and  rielu-st  in  all  dt;i)artments  of  thojight  or 
imagination  wliich  exists." 

Besides  these  books,  he  seems  to  have  had  a  rosebush, 
about  which  he  wrote  a  poem  :  — 

"  This  liomelj'  IJush  doth  to  mine  pyes  expose, 
A  very  fair,  ye.a,  coincly,  ruddy  rose. 
This  rose  dotli  always  bow  its  head  to  me, 
Saying,  'Come  pluck  me  ;  I  thy  rose  will  be.'  " 

He  also  wrote  verses  about  a  spider  whose  habits  he 
closely  watched. 

Bunyan's  i)rison,  if  it  had  much  of  discomfort,  gave 
him  leisure  to  read  and  write — the  one  thing  for  which 
most  persons  of  brain  are  struggling.  "  Prisons  in 
those  days,"  says  ('anon  Viuiables,  "and  indeed  long 
afterwards,  were,  at  their  best,  foul,  dark,  miserable 
])laces.  A  century  later  .lohn  Howard  found  Bedford 
jail,  though  better  than  some,  in  what  would  now  be 
justly  deemed  a  disgracefid  condition.  One  who  visited 
Bunyan  during  his  confinement  speaks  of  it  'as  an  un- 
comfortable and  close  prison.' " 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  141 

Once  or  twice  his  friends  tried  to  regain  his  liberty 
for  him,  but  he  always  left  the  matter  with  his  Lord. 
When  they  failed  to  obtain  his  freedom,  Ik;  said,  "  Verily, 
I  did  meet  my  God  sweetly  again,  comforting  of  me  and 
satisfying  of  me,*that  it  Avas  his  will  and  mind  that  1 
should  be  there." 

In  prison  Biinyan's  pen  Avas  a  source  of  great  joy  to 
himself,  and  a  blessing  to  all  the  world.  His  earliest 
prison  work  Avas  "  Profitable  Meditations  "  in  verse.  He 
put  portions  of  the  Old  and  Ncav  Testament  into  poetry. 
Fronde  calls  the  "Book  of  Kuth  "  and  the  "History  of 
Joseph  "  "  beautiful  idylls." 

He  wrote  in  prose  a  treatise  on  prayer,  entitled,  "Pray- 
ing in  the  Spirit ;  "  a  book  on  "  Christian  P)ehavior ;  "  tlie 
"  Holy  City,"  an  exposition  of  the  closing  chapters  of 
Kevelation;  a  work  on  the  "  Kesurrection  of  the  Dend 
and  Eternal  Judgment;"  and  "Grace  Abounding,"  the 
story  of  his  oavu  conversion.  The  latter  book,  "  if  he 
had  Avritten  no  other,"  says  Canon  Venables,  "Avoidd 
stamp  Bunyan  as  one  of  the  greatest  masters  of  the 
English  language  of  his  own  or  any  otlier  age." 

This  book  Avas  published  l)y  George  Larkin,  in  London, 
in  1()()(),  in  the  sixth  year  of  Bunyan's  imprisonment. 

Besides  these,  he  Avrote  his  "Confession  of  Faith,"  and 
his  "  Defence  of  the  Doctrine  of  Justilication  by  Faitli." 

Bunyan's  imprisonment  came  to  an  end  May  8,  1()72. 
Througli  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  granted  by 
(Miarles  II.,  Nonconformists  were  once  more  alloAved  to 
Avorship  God  as  they  cliose. 

It  seems  i)robablt',  from  I'unyan's  later  biographers, 
that  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  was  written  during  a  subse- 
(pient  imprisonment  of  six  months  in  lOir),  Avlien  the 
Nonconformists  were  again  suffering  the  rigt)rs  of  laAv. 


142  JOHN  BUNYAN. 

The  first  edition  appeared  in  1G78,  when  liunyan  was 
fifty  years  old.  A  second  edition  was  issned  the  same 
year,  and  a  third,  with  additions,  the  year  folhjwing, 
1679. 

After  it  was  written  in  prison,  Banyan,  always  dis- 
trusting his  own  al)ilities,  consulted  with  his  friends 
about  the  wisdom  of  publisliing  it,  as  will  be  seen  from 
tlie  metrical  preface  :  — 

"  When  at  first  I  took  my  pen  in  hand, 
Thus  for  to  write,  I  did  not  understand 
That  I  at  all  sliould  make  a  little  book 
In  such  a  mode;  nay,  I  had  luidertook 
To  make  another;  whi<;h,  when  almost  done, 
Before  I  was  aware  1  this  begun. 

Well,  when  I  had  thus  put  my  ends  together, 

I  showed  them  others,  that  I  might  see  whether 

They  would  condemn  them,  or  them  justify: 

And  some  said,  '  Let  them  live; '  some,  '  I-et  them  die.' 

Some  said,  '  John,  print  it; '  others  said,  '  Not  so;' 

Some  said,  'It  might  do  good;'  others  said,  '  No.' 

Now  was  I  in  a  strait,  and  did  not  see 

Which  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done  of  me; 

At  last  I  thought,  since  you  are  thus  divided, 

I  print  it  will,  and  so  the  case  decided." 

Bunyan  was  already-  famous.  The  day  after  he  was 
released  from  prison,  he  began  to  j)reach  in  a  barn  stand- 
ing in  an  orchard  in  Bedford,  wliich  one  of  the  congrega- 
tion, Josias  Ivufflicad,  acting  for  the  nuMubers  of  the 
church,  had  purchased,  "  to  be  a  place  for  tlie  use  of  sucli 
as  doe  not  conforme  to  the  Cliurch  of  Englantl,  wlio  are 
of  the  Persuasion  commf)nly  calh'd  Congregationall." 
The  barn  was  so  tli rouged   that  many  were  obliged  to 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  143 

stay  outside.  Here  he  preached  till  his  death,  sixteen 
years  afterward. 

He  had  a  general  oversight  of  the  churches  far  and 
near,  and  was  often  called  Bishop  r>unyan. 

He  was  urged  to  reside  in  London,  but  lie  would  not 
leave  Bedford.  Here  he  lived  iu  a  cottage  which  had 
three  small  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  —  such  a  house 
as  laborers  now  use.  Behind  tlie  cottage  stood  a  small 
building  wliich  served  as  his  workshop.  A  person  visit- 
ing him  found  in  his  "study"  the  Bible,  "Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  and  a  few  other  books,  chiefly  his  own  pro- 
ductions, "  all  lying  on  a  shelf  or  shelves." 

His  beloved  blind  daughter,  Mary,  had  died  while  he 
was  in  prison.  The  other  children,  Thomas,  Joh'n,  Jo- 
seph, Sarah,  and  Elizabeth,  four  by  the  first  mother,  and 
two  by  the  second,  brightened  the  plain  IVdford  cottage. 
His  son  Thomas  became  a  minister  in  1673,  the  year 
after  his  father  regained  his  liberty. 

Whenever  ])vuiyau  went  to  London  to  preach,  says 
Charles  Doe,  "  if  there  were  but  one  day's  notice  given, 
there  woidd  be  niore  people  come  together  than  the 
meeting-house  could  hold.  I  have  seen,  by  my  computa- 
tion, alxmt  twelve  hundred  at  anu)rning  lecture,  by  s(M»>n 
<)'(do(l{,  on  a  working  day,  in  the  dark  winter  time.  1 
also  computed  abcmt  three  thousand  that  came  to  hear 
him  one  l^ord's  Day  in  London,  at  a  towu's-end  meeting- 
house, so  that  half  were  fain  to  go  back  again  for  want 
of  room,  and  then  himself  Avas  fain  at  a  back  door  to  be 
pulled  almost  over  })eopl(!  to  get  u])-stairs  to  his  pulpit." 
To  what  honor  had  the  ])oor  tinkei-  already  conu>  I 

It  is  said  that  ('harles  II.  exi)ress('(l  his  sur])risc  to 
Dr.  Owen  that  "a  l(>arned  man,  such  as  he,  could  sit 
and  listen  to  an  illiterates  tinker." 


144  JOHN  BUN Y AN. 

"  May  it  please  your  majesty,"  was  the  reply,  "  T  would 
gladly  give  u})  all  my  learning  if  1  could  preach  like  tliat 
tinker.'' 

The  wonderful  success  attending  the  "  IMlgrim's  Prog- 
ress" must  have  been  a  surprise  to  modest  John  IJunyan. 
Macaulay  says,  "  He  had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  j»ro- 
ducing  a  masterpiece."  It  spread  his  fanu^  over  Europe 
and  the  American  settlements.  It  was  translated  into 
many  foreign  languages  during  his  life. 

Dr.  Brown  says  :  "  It  is  found  in  Northern  Europe  — 
in  Danish,  Icelandic,  Norwegian,  Lithuanian,  Finnish, 
Lettish,  Esthonian,  and  Russ  ;  in  Eastern  Europe  —  in 
Servian,  Bulgarian,  liohemian,  Hungarian,  and  Polish  ; 
and  in  Southern  Eurojw  —  in  French,  Italian,  Spanish, 
Portuguese,  and  Romaic,  or  modern  Greek.  In  Asia,  it 
may  be  met  with  in  Hebrew,  Arabic,  ^lodern  Syriac, 
Armeno-Turkish,  Graeco-Turkish,  and  Armenian.  Farther 
to  the  south,  also,  it  is  seen  in  Pashtu,  or  Afghani,  and 
in  the  great  Empire  of  India  it  is  found  in  various 
forms. 

"It  has  been  translated  into  Hindustani  or  Urdu,  Ben- 
gali, Uriya  or  Orissa,  Hindi,  Sindhi,  I'anjabi  or  Sikh, 
Telugu,  Canarese,  Tamil,  Malayaline,  Marathi-Balbodh, 
Gujarati,  and  Singhalese. 

"  In  Indo-Chinese  countries  there  are  versions  of  it  in 
Assamese,  Khasi,  Burmese,  and  Sgau-Karen.  It  has  been 
given  to  the  Dyaks  of  Borneo,  to  the  Malays,  to  the  Mal- 
agasy, to  the  Japanese,  and  to  the  many-millioned  people 
of  China,  in  various  dialects,  both  classical  and  collo- 
quial." 

It  has  also  been  translated  into  the  languages  of  West- 
ern Africa,  the  Pacific  Islands,  the  Mexicans,  and  various 
tribes  of  Indians. 


JOEN  BUN Y AN.  145 

The  greatest  minds  of  the  workl  have  been  unanimous 
in  its  praise.  Everybody  agrees  witli  Tophidy,  who  wrote 
"  Rock  of  Ages,"  that  "  it  is  tlie  finest  allegorical  work 
extant." 

Macaulay  said,  ''  Bunyan  is  the  first  of  allegorists,  as 
Shakespeare  is  the  first  of  dramatists,"  and  recommended 
the  study  of  his  simple  style  to  any  who  wished  to  gain 
command  over  his  mother  tongue. 

Coleridge  said,  "  I  know  of  no  book,  the  Bible  ex- 
cepted as  above  all  comparison,  wliich  I,  according  to  my 
judgment  and  experience,  could  so  safely  recommend,  as 
teaching  and  enforcing  the  whole  saving  truth,  according 
to  the  mind  tliat  was  in  Christ  Jesus,  as  '  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress.'  " 

Fronde  well  says  it  has  made  Bunyan's  "  name  a  house- 
hold word  in  every  English-speaking  family  on  the  globe." 
Hallam  calls  his  style  "  i)owerful  and  picturesque  from 
concise  simplicity."  Green,  the  historian,  thinks  '•  Bun- 
yan's English  the  simplest  and  homeliest  English  that 
has  ever  been  used  by  any  great  English  writer.  ...  It 
is  the  English  of  the  Bible." 

The  second  part  of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  was  jmb- 
lished  seven  years  after  the  first,  in  lOSo.  In  1080  aj)- 
peared  the  "  Life  and  Deatli  of  Mr.  P>a(lman,"  a  contrast 
to  the  good  Pilgrim;  in  IfiSl,  "Come  and  Wtdeome  to 
Jesus  Christ,"  which  went  through  several  editions  ;  and 
in  1GS2,  the  "  IJoly  War,"  whicli,  INIacaulay  says,  would 
have  Ix'en  our  greatest  allegory  if  "Pilgrim's  Progress" 
had  never  been  written.  It  represents  the  fall  and 
recovery  of  man. 

Several  small  books  froni  Bunyan's  i)en  appeared  from 
year  to  year.  In  1(').S8.  the  year  of  liis  death,  five  of  liis 
works  were  published,  "  Jerusalem   Siniuu-  Saved,  or  a 


146  JOHN  BUNYAN. 

Help  to  Despairing  Souls ;  "  "The  Work  of  Jesus  Christ 
as  an  Advocate ;  "  a  poetical  composition  entitled,  "  The 
Building,  Nature,  and  Excellency  of  the  House  of  God ;  " 
the  "  Water  of  Life  ;  "  and  "Solomon's  Temple  Sjnritual- 
ized."  "  The  Acceptable  Sacrifice  "  was  going  through 
the  press  at  the  time  of  his  death. 

Besides  these,  IJunyan  had  ])rei)ar('d  the  manuscript  of 
fourteen  or  nujre  works.  Ten  were  i)ul)lished  soon  after 
his  death,  by  his  devoted  friend,  Charles  Doe,  who  said 
he  thought  the  best  work  he  could  do  for  God  was  to  get 
Bunyan's  bo(jks  printed  and  sold. 

In  the  summer  of  1088,  a  young  man,  in  whom  Bunyan 
was  dee])ly  interested,  told  liim  tliat  his  father  was  about 
to  disinherit  him,  and  begged  the  preacher  to  see  him. 
Though  scarcely  recovered  from  an  illness,  he  at  once 
rode  on  horseback  to  Beading,  met  the  fatlier,  obtained 
a  promise  of  forgiveness,  and  returned  homeward  through 
London,  where  he  was  to  preach  near  Wliitechajiel. 

His  forty  miles  to  London  were  made  tlirough  a  pour- 
ing rain.  ])renched  and  weary,  he  reached  the  home  of 
liis  friend.  Deacon  John  Strudwick,  Holborn  Bridge,  Snow 
Hill.  With  his  usual  determination  to  do  what  he 
thought  to  be  his  duty,  he  preached  Sunday,  Aug.  19, 
1()88.  Twelve  days  later,  Aug.  .'il,  he  was  dead.  In  two 
months  he  would  liave  been  sixty  y^^ars  old.  He  was 
buried  in  Mr.  Strudwick's  vault,  in  the  Dissenters'  bury- 
ing-ground  at  ]')unhill  Field.  The  mother  of  John  Wes- 
ley sleeps  close  by.  Tliis  place  was  called  Bunhill  or 
Bonehill,  from  a  vast  (piantity  of  human  remains  removed 
to  it  from  tlu!  charnel  house  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  in 
1549. 

.   Bunyan  died  as  he  had  lived,  in  com])let(^  trust  and 
faitlu     He  asked  those  who  stood  around  his  bedside  to 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  147 

pray,  and  he  joined  fervently  with  them.  "  Weep  not 
for  me,"  he  said,  "  but  for  yourselves.  I  go  to  the 
Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  will,  no  doubt, 
through  the  mediation  of  his  blessed  Son,  receive  me, 
though  a  sinner,  wliere  I  ho])e  we  ere  long  sliall  meet 
to  sing  tlie  new  song,  and  remain  everlastingly  hapjiy. 
world  witliout  end.  Amen." 

liis  blind  Mary  had  gone  before  him ;  and  Elizabeth, 
his  noble  wife,  died  four  years  after  liim,  in  ir)92. 

Bunyan's  preaching  was  natural,  simple,  and  earnest, 
with  now  and  then  an  appro})riate  comparison  and  anec- 
dote. He  said,  "  I  have  observed  that  a  word  cast  in  by- 
the-by  hath  done  more  execution  in  a  sermon  than  all 
that  was  spoken  besides.  Sometimes,  also,  when  I  liave 
thought  I  did  no  good,  then  I  did  the  most  of  all ;  and 
at  other  times,  when  I  thought  I  should  catch  them,  I 
have  fished  for  nothing." 

Tlie  liev.  Charles  Doe  describes  Bunyan  "as  tall  of  stat- 
ure, strong-boned,  though  not  cor})ulent;  somewhat  of  a 
ruddy  face,  with  sparkling  eyes,  .  .  .  hair  reddish,  but  in 
his  later  days  time  had  sprinkled  it  witli  gray,  .  .  .  fore- 
head sometliing  high,  and  l)is  habit  always  plain  and 
modest.  ...  In  his  conversation  he  was  mild  and  affable, 
not^iven  to  hxpiacity  or  much  discourse  in  com])any. 
.  .  .  He  had  a  sharp,  quick  eye,  with  an  excellent  discern- 
ing of  persons,  being  of  good  judgment  and  (piick  wit." 

He  was  careful  in  preparing  his  sermons,  usually  com- 
mitting them  to  writing  after  he  had  preaclied  them.  In 
com])osing  his  books  his  habit  was,  "  first '  with  doing, 
and  then  with  muloing,  and  after  that  with  doing  again." 

Froude  says  if  I'unyan's  "importance  may  be  meas- 
ured by  the  infiuence  which  he  has  exerted  over  succeed- 
ing generations,   he  nnist  be  counted  annmg  the  most 


148  JOHN  liUNYAN. 

extraordinary  persons  whom  England  has  produced.  .  .  . 
To  understand,  and  to  make  others  understand,  wliat 
Christ  had  done,  and  wiiat  Christ  required  men  to  do, 
was  the  occupation  of  his  whole  mind,  and  no  object  ever 
held  his  attention  except  in  connection  with  it."  Is  it 
any  wonder  that  the  ministry  of  the  poor,  uneducated 
tinker  was  a  marvellous  success  ? 

Visitors  from  all  parts  of  the  world  go  to  Bedford 
yearly  to  look  upon  the  scenes  associated  with  Bunyan's 
life.  In  the  Manor  are  seen  his  will,  his  cabinet,  tlie 
Church  Book,  and  various  editions  and  foreign  versions 
of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

Bunyan's  chair  is  also  shown,  and  the  oak  door  with 
iron  crossbars,  once  a  part  of  Bedford  jail,  the  home  of 
the  great  preacher  for  twelve  long  years. 


THOMAS  ARNOLD. 


THOMAS   ARNOLD. 


Dr.  Thomas  Arnold  of  Rugby,  "  England's  greatest 
schoolmaster,"  was  born  at  West  Cowes,  Isle  of  Wight, 
June  13,  1795.  He  was  the  youngest  son  and  seventli 
child  of  William  and  Martha  Arnold.  His  father  died 
before  he  was  six  years  old.  His  early  education  was 
intrusted  to  his  mother's  sister,  Mrs.  Delafield;  and  later, 
at  the  age  of  twelve,  he  was  sent  to  Winchester. 

This  aunt  he  never  forgot.  When  she  was  seventy- 
sev^en  he  wrote  to  her,  "  This  is  your  birthday,  on  which 
I  have  thought  of  you,  and  loved  you,  for  as  many  years 
past  as  I  can  remember.  No  tenth  of  September  will 
ever  pass  without  my  thinking  of  you  and  loving 
you." 

Tlie  sh;^  retiring  boy  was  early  fond  of  books.  When 
he  was  three,  he  received  a  present  from  his  father  of 
Smollett's  "  History  of  England,"  "  as  a  reward,"  says 
Dean  Stanley,  in  his  life  of  Arnold,  ''  for  the  accuracy 
with  which  he  had  gone  through  the  stories  connected  with 
the  portraits  and  })ictures  of  the  successive  reigns;  and 
at  the  same  age  he  used  to  sit  at  his  aunt's  table  arran- 
ging his  geographical  cards,  and  recognizing  by  their  shape 
at  a  glance  the  different  counties  of  the  dissected  map  of 
England." 

His  first  childish  literary  work  was  at  the  age  of 
seven,  —  a  play,  on  "  Piercy,  Earl  of  Northumberland." 

149 


150  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

Between  eight  and  twelve,  when  at  school  at  Warminster, 
he  rejoiced  in  Homer.  A  schoolmate  writes  :  "  Arnold's 
delight  was  in  preparing  for  some  part  of  the  Siege  of 
Troy ;  with  a  stick  in  liis  riglit  hand,  and  the  cover  of  a 
tin  box,  or  any  flat  piece  of  wood,  tied  n^jon  his  left  arm, 
he  would  come  forth  to  the  battle,  and  from  l*ope's 
Homer  would  pour  forth  fluently  the  cliallenge  or  the 
reproach.  .  .  .  Every  book  he  had  was  easily  recognized 
as  his  property  by  helmet  and  shields,  and  Hectors  and 
Achilleses,  on  all  the  blank  leaves;  many  of  mine  had 
some  token  of  his  graphic  love  of  those  heroes." 

The  liome  life  seems  to  have  been  full  of  atfection. 
Rose  E.  Selfe,  in  the  World's  Worker  series,  gives  these 
letters.  His  brother  Matthew  Avrites  him  from  school, 
in  1800,  before  he  is  five  years  old,  asking  him  for  a 
letter,  "with  all  the  news  you  can  think  of.  What 
new  books  you  have,  whether  you  like  tlie  great  I)ible 
as  well  as  you  did,  how  your  garden  and  the  flowers 
come  on." 

"  My  ddrling  little  Tom.  .  .  ."  his  sister  Susannah 
writes,  "I  shall  expect  to  And  you  venj  wnrh  iuijjroved, 
particularly  in  your  reading.  As  you  know  you  are 
fond  of  kissing,  give  our  dkarest,  dkaukst,  i>kak- 
EST  Mamma  and  Aunt  ten  each  from  Fan  and  my- 
self. (Hi,  how  1  wisli  I  could  see  and  kiss  them  mi/self, 
and  you,  too,  my  .siveet  dear  Tom  !  I  should  like  to 
know  rerij  mueh  if  you  ai-e  as  fond  of  geograjiliy  as  you 
were  last  Cluistmas  ;  tell  vie  when  you  honour  us  with 
a  letter.  Adieu  now.  my  lovely  Boy.  Witli  siurerely 
wishing  you  health  and  happine-is, 

I  remain,  your  truly  affectionate  and  loving  sister, 

SuK  Arnold." 


THOMAS  A  UN  OLD.  151 

This  sister,  an  invalid  for  twenty  years,  was  most 
unselfish  and  lovable  in  character.  She  died  at  Lale- 
ham  in  1832. 

At  the  Winchester  school  he  was  called  the  poet 
Arnold  to  distinguish  him  from  anotlier  boy  of  the  same 
name.  He  used  to  recite  ballad  poetry  for  the  pleasure 
of  his  schoolmates,  and  wrote  a  long  poem,  "  Simon  de 
Montfoit/'  in  imitation  of  Scott's  •'  Marmion." 

He  had  read  Gibbon  and  Mitford  through  twice  biifore 
he  left  Winchester,  at  sixteen.  At  fourteen  he  enjoyed 
"  the  modest,  unaffected,  and  impartial  narratives  of 
Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and  X<'noplion,"  and  did  not 
like  "the  numerous  boasts  which  are  everywhere  to  be 
met  with  in  the  Latin  writers."  He  thought  IJoman 
liistory  "  scandalously  exaggerated,"  and  had  no  idea 
that  he  was  thereafter,  in  his  manhood,  to  write  a  fair 
and  delightful  Roman  history  himself. 

In  1811  he  was  elected  a  scholar  at  Corpus  Christi 
College,  Oxford,  and  four  years  later  became  a  Fellow 
at  Oriel  College.  He  gained  in  1815  and  in  1817  the 
Chancelloi's  prize  for  the  two  University  essays,  Latin 
and  Engli>H4i.  In  college  he  had  a  jiassion  for  Aristotle 
and  Thucydides.  Next  to  tliese  he  loved  Herodotus. 
Though  delicate  in  appearance,  lie  took  long  walks,  in 
wliich  he  studied  nature,  being  a  lover  of  flowers,  birds, 
and  clouds. 

His  friendsliips  were  warm  and  lasting.  Jolm  Keble, 
autlior  of  "  The  Christian  Year."  \Vliately.  later  Arch- 
bisliop  of  Dublin,  and  Coleridge,  afterwards  cliief-justiee, 
were  his  especial  friends. 

During  his  four  years  as  a  Fellow  in  Oriel  College,  he 
took  private  piipils,  and  read  in  the  Oxford  libraries. 
His   plan   was   to   make   liimself   master   of   some   one 


152  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

period,  like  the  fifteenth  century,  and  write  full  notes 
upon  it. 

Oxford  was  always  very  dear  to  Arnold.  He  wrote 
years  later,  "If  I  live  till  I  am  eighty,  and  were  to 
enjoy  all  the  hajjpiness  that  the  warmest  wish  could 
desire,  I  should  never  forget  or  cease  to  look  back  witli 
something  of  a  painful  feeling  on  the  years  we  were 
together  there,  and  on  all  the  delights  that  we  have 
lost." 

During  tliese  college  years  he  was  often  restless  and 
weary  of  duty,  inclined  to  indolence,  and  an  early  riser 
with  the  greatest  difficulty.  These  things  he  overcame 
in  later  life.  He  had  some  religious  doubts,  which  com- 
pletely vanislied  as  he  studied  and  thought  more  deeply. 

In  1819  Arnold  removed  to  Laleham,  with  his  mother, 
sister,  and  aunt,  and  remained  here  for  the  next  nine 
years,  preparing  private  inipils  for  the  universities. 

A  year  after  coming  to  Laleham,  he  married,  when  he 
was  twenty-five.  Mary,  youngest  daughter  of  the  Rev. 
John  Penrose,  in  Nottinghamshire,  and  sister  of  one  of 
his  best  college  friends,  Trevenen  Penrose.  She  was  a 
worthy  helper  through  all  the  laborious  years  wliich 
followed. 

Although  Arnold  had  fitted  himself  for  the  Chm-ch,  he 
loved  the  work  of  teaching.  He  \vrote  to  a  friend  about 
to  engage  in  a  similar  occupation.  "  I  know  it  has  a  bad 
name,  but  my  wife  and  I  always  liaj^jjened  to  be  fond  of 
it.  .  .  .  I  enjoyed  and  do  enjoy  the  society  of  youths  of 
seventeen  or  eighteen;  for  thej'^  are  all  alive  in  limbs  and 
spirits  at  least,  if  not  in  mind,  wliile  in  older  ])ersons 
the  body  and  s])irits  oftener  become  lazy  and  languid 
without  the  mind  gaining  any  vigor  to  compensate 
for  it.  .  .  . 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  153 

"  The  misery  of  private  tuition  seems  to  me  to  consist 
in  tliis,  that  men  enter  upon  it  as  a  means  to  some  fur- 
tlier  end ;  are  always  impatient  for  the  time  when  they 
may  lay  it  aside ;  whereas,  if  you  enter  u])on  it  heartily 
as  your  life's  business,  as  a  man  enters  upon  any  other 
profession,  you  are  not  tlien  in  danger  of  grudging  every 
hour  you  give  to  it.  .  .  . 

''  I  should  say,  have  your  pupils  a  good  deal  with  you, 
and  be  as  familiar  with  them  as  you  possibly  can.  I 
did  this  continually  more  and  more  before  I  left  Lale- 
ham,  going  to  bathe  with  them,  leaping,  and  all  other 
gymnastic  exercises  within  my  capacity,  and  sometimes 
sailing  or  rowing  with  them.  They,  I  believe,  always 
liked  it,  and  1  enjoyed  it  myself  like  a  boy,  and  found 
myself  constantly  the  better  for  it.'' 

"  Large  private  schools,"  he  thought,  '"'  the  worst  pos- 
sible system ;  the  choice  lies  between  imblie  schools,  and 
an  education  whose  character  may  be  strictly  i>rivate 
and  domestic." 

Tlie  home  at  Laleliam  was  very  dear  to  him.  Here 
six  of  his  children  were  born.  He  loved  the  quiet  walks 
along  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  his  garden  back  of  his 
house,  where,  he  said,  "there  is  always  something  to 
interest  me  even  in  the  very  sight  of  the  weeds  and 
litter,  for  then  I  think  how  much  improved  the  place 
will  be  when  they  are  removed,"  and  the  churchyard, 
where  in  alter  years  his  mother,  his  infant  child,  and 
now  his  distinguislied  son  Matthew  are  resting. 

One  of  his  ])upils  at  Laleham  thus  writes  of  Arnold  : 
"  His  great  ])()wer  as  a  private  tutor  resided  in  this,  that 
he  gave  such  an  intense  earnestness  to  life.  Every 
]nipil  was  made  to  feel  that  there  was  a  work  f<n'  him  to 
do, —  tliat  his  happiness  as  well  as  his  duty  lay  in  doing 


154  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

that  work  well.  .  .  .•  His  hold  over  all  his  pupils  per- 
fectly astonished  ine.  It  was  not  so  much  an  enthusias- 
tic admiration  for  his  genius  or  learning  or  eloquence 
Avhich  stirred  within  them ;  it  was  a  sympathetic  thrill 
caught  from  a  spirit  that  was  earnestly  at  work  in  the 
world.  .  .  . 

"  In  all  this  there  was  no  excitement,  no  predilection 
for  one  class  of  work  above  another  .  .  .  but  an  humble, 
profound,  and  most  religious  consciousness  that  work  is 
the  appointed  calling  of  man  on  earth,  the  end  for  which 
his  various  faculties  were  given,  the  element  in  which 
his  nature  is  ordained  to  develop  itself." 

Arnold  used  to  say,  "  one  must  always  expect  to  suc- 
ceed, but  never  think  he  had  succeeded." 

Besides  teaching,  Arnold  devoted  his  spare  time  to 
philology  and  history,  preparing  a  Lexicon  of  Thucydides 
and  articles  on  Roman  History.  He  learned  the  German 
language  that  he  might  read  Niebuhrs  "  History  of 
Rome,"  and  thereafter  became  deeply  interested  in  Ger- 
man literature. 

He  wrote  a  friend  concerning  his  little  study  "  where 
I  have  a  sofa  full  of  books,  as  of  old,  and  the  two  verse 
books  lying  about  on  it,  and  a  vohnue  of  Herodotus  ;  and 
where  I  sit  up  and  read  or  write  till  twelve  or  one 
o'clock."  I'lato's  "  Phffido  "  was  a  great  favorite.  He 
thought  it  "  nearly  the  perfection  of  human  language." 

To  another  he  wrote,  "One  of  my  most  iiseful  books 
is  dear  old  Tottle's  (Aristotle's)  '  Politics,'  which  give  one 
so  full  a  notion  of  the  state  of  society  and  opinions  in 
old  times,  that  by  their  aid  one  can  pick  out  the  wheat 
from  the  chaif  in  Livy  with  great  success." 

Arnold  Avas  always  a  learner.  He  studied  Hebrew 
when  he  was  forty-three  and  Sanscrit  when  he  was  forty- 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  155 

five.  He  urged  ministers  not  to  study  works  on  "Di- 
vinity "  only.  "  A  man  requires,"  he  said  "  first,  the 
general  cultivation  of  his  mind,  by  constantly  reading 
the  works  of  the  very  greatest  writers,  philosophers,  ora- 
tors, and  poets,  and  next,  an  understanding  of  the  actual 
state  of  society,  .  .  .  and  of  political  economy  as  teach- 
ing him  how  to  deal  with  the  poor.  .  .  .  Further,  I 
should  advise  a  constant  use  of  the  biography  of  good 
men." 

Arnold's  friends  were  urging  him  to  a  wider  sphere  of 
influence.  Laleham  had  become  too  expensive  for  his 
means,  and  he  had  determined  to  move  elsewhere.  Just 
at  this  time  the  head-mastership  of  Kugby  became  vacant. 
There  were  about  thirty  ai)plicauts,  and  his  testimonials 
were  sent  in  late.  His  college  friend,  Dr.  Hawkins, 
afterwards  Provost  of  Oriel,  wrote  the  twelve  trustees  a 
letter  about  Arnold,  predicting  that  if  he  were  elected, 
"  he  would  change  the  face  of  education  all  through  the 
public  schools  of  England."  He  was  elected  in  Decem- 
ber, 1827,  and  the  words  of  Dr.  Hawkins  Avere  fully 
verified. 

In  1828  he  received  the  degree  of  D.D.,  and  entered 
upon  his  new  duties. 

It  cost  the  Arnold  family  many  a  struggle  to  leave 
Laleham.  "I  cannot  tell  you,"  Dr.  Arnold  writes  J.  T. 
Coleridge,  "how  we  both  love  it,  and  its  perfect  peace 
seems  at  times  an  appalling  contrast  to  the  publicity  of 
Kugby.  I  am  sure  that  nothing  could  stifle  this  regret, 
were  it  not  for  my  full  consciousness  that  I  have  notliing 
to  do  with  rest  here,  but  with  labor." 

To  another  friend  he  writes,  "'  On  Tuesday,  if  God 
will,  we  shall  leave  this  dear  place,  this  nine  years' 
home  of  such  exceeding  happiness.     But  it  boots  not  to 


156  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

look  backwards.  Forwards,  forwards,  forwards,  —  should 
be  one's  motto." 

For  fourteen  years  Arnold  lived  at  Rugby  and  did  his 
great  work,  which  has  made  his  name  known  and  hon- 
ored among  all  educated  nations.  "  What  a  pity,"  said 
some  persons,  "  that  a  man  tit  to  be  a  statesman  should 
be  employed  in  teaching  scliool-boys." 

But  Arnold  knew  the  greatness  of  his  chosen  work. 
"  It  is  a  most  touching  thing  to  me,"  he  said,  "to  receive 
a  new  fellow  from  his  father,  Avhen  I  think  what  an  in- 
fluence there  is  in  this  place  for  evil  as  well  as  for  good. 
I  do  not  know  anything  which  aifects  me  more.  If  ever 
I  could  receive  a  new  boy  from  his  fatlier  without 
emotion,  I  should  think  it  was  higli  time  to  be  off." 

With  much  firmness  he  united  great  tenderness. 
"  Lenity  is  seldom  to  be  repented  of,"  he  wrote  a  f  rierid 
who  had  asked  his  advice  in  dealing  with  a  difficult 
pupil.  "  In  cases,"  says  Dean  Stanley,  *'  when  it  miglit 
have  been  thought  that  tenderness  would  have  been  ex- 
tinguished by  indignation,  he  was  sometimes  so  deeply 
affected  in  pronouncing  sentence  of  punishment  on  offen- 
ders as  to  be  hardly  able  to  speak." 

Once,  when  he  heard  of  some  great  fault  in  one  of  liis 
pupils,  "I  felt,"  he  said  —  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  he  spoke,  "as  if  it  had  been  one  of  my  own  children, 
and,  till  I  had  ascertained  that  it  was  really  true,  I  men- 
tioned it  to  no  one,  not  even  to  any  of  tlie  masters." 

At  another  time  he  said  to  one  of  the  masters,  s])eak- 
ing  of  a  promising  lad,  "  If  he  should  turn  out  ill,  I 
think  it  would  break  my  heart." 

He  wrote  a  friend,  "  I  believe  that  boys  may  be  gov- 
erned a  great  deal  by  gentle  methods  and  kindness,  and 
appealing  to  their  better  feelings,  if  you  show  tliat  you 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  157 

are  not  afraid  of  them  ;  T  have  seen  great  boys,  six  feet 
liigh,  shed  tears  wlien  I  liave  sent  for  them  up  to  my 
room  and  spoken  to  them  (piietly,  in  private,  for  not 
knowing  their  lesson,  and  I  have  found  tliat  this  treat- 
ment i)roduced  its  eft'eet  afterwards  in  making  them  do 
better,  l^ut  of  course  deeds  must  second  words  when 
needful,  or  words  will  soon  be  laughed  at." 

Wlien  Occasion  demanded,  Arnold  could  be  very  firm. 
If  a  boy  were  habitually  idle,  or  doing  harm  in  the  school, 
he  was  expelled,  for  a  time  or  permanently.  "  Often  it 
would  be  wliolly  unknown  who  were  thus  dismissed  or 
why,"  says  Dean  Stanle}^ ;  "latterly,  Arnold  generally 
allowed  such  cases  to  remain  till  the  end  of  the  half- 
year,  that  their  removal  might  pass  altogether  un- 
noticed." 

Many  parents  were  displeased,  but  Arnold  never  hes- 
itated for  a  moment  in  what  he  believed  to  be  his  duty. 
The  result  was  that  the  tone  of  the  school  became  so 
elevated  that  more  wished  to  come  than  could  be 
accommodated. 

He  always  appealed  to  the  liouor  of  the  pupils.  Once 
he  said,  with  great  s})irit,  in  an  address  in  whicli  h(>  liad 
spoken  of  bad  feeling  amongst  the  boys,  '^  Is  this  a 
Christian  school?  I  cannot  remain  here  if  all  is  to  be 
carried  on  by  constraint  and  force;  if  I  am  to  be  liere  as 
a  jailer,  I  will  resign  my  office  at  once." 

He  said,  "My  great  desire  is  to  tcacli  my  boys  to 
govern  themselves  —  a  much  better  thing  than  to  govern 
them  well  myself." 

At  another  time,  wlieu  several  boys  had  be(Mi  sent 
away,  and  tliere  was  much  discontent  in  consequence,  he 
said,  "  It  is  not  necessary  that  this  sliould  be  a  scliool  of 
three  hundred,  or  one  liundred,  or  of  fifty  boys;  but  it  is 


158  'THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

necessary  that  it  should  be  a  school  of  Christian  gentle- 
men." 

He  trusted  the  boys,  and  never  seemed  to  watcli  them. 
Their  word  was  not  doubted.  "  If  you  say  so,  tliat  is 
quite  enough ;  of  course  I  believe  your  word,"  was  his 
frequent  statement. 

"  Tliere  grew  up  in  consequence,"  says  Stauley,  "  a 
general  feeling  that  it  was  a  shame  to  tell  Arnold  a  lie  — 
he  always  believes  one."  If  falsehood  was  discovered, 
the  punishment  was  severe. 

He  usually  had  great  patience.  When  living  at  Lale- 
ham  he  once  spoke  sliarply  to  a  dull  pupil.  "  Why  do 
you  speak  angrily,  sir  ?  "  said  tlie  youth,  looking  up  in 
his  face ;  "  indeed,  I  am  doing  the  best  that  I  can." 

Years  afterward  Arnold  used  to  say  to  his  children, 
"  I  never  felt  so  much  ashamed  in  my  life  —  that  look 
and  that  speech  I  have  never  forgotten." 

For  mere  "intellectual  acuteness  "  he  had  no  admira- 
tion, unless  united  with  goodness.  "  If  there  be  one 
thing  on  earth  which  is  truly  admirable,"  he  said,  "  it  is 
to  see  God's  wisdom  blessing  an  inferiority  of  natural 
powers,  where  they  have  been  honestly,  tndy,  and  zeal- 
lously  cultivated.  ...  I  would  stand  to  tliat  man  hat  in 
hand:' 

Arnold's  consistent  and  noble  life  won  the  undying 
regard  of  his  pupils.  One  pupil  writes  :  "  I  am  sure 
that  I  do  not  exaggerate  my  feelings  when  I  say  that  I 
felt  a  love  and  reverence  for  him  as  one  of  quite  awful 
greatness  and  goodness,  for  wliom,  I  well  rejnember,  that 
I  used  to  think  I  would  gladly  lay  down  my  life.  ...  I 
used  to  believe  that  I,  too,  had  a  work  to  do  for  him  in 
the  school,  and  did,  for  his  sake,  labor  to  raise  tlie  tone 
of  the  set  I  lived  in." 


TUOMAS   ARNOLD.  159 

Who  can  ever  forget  the  description  of  Arnold  in  tliat 
natural  and  fascinating  book,  "  Tom  Brown's  Scliool 
Days  "  ? 

"  And  then  came  that  great  event  in  his,  as  in  every 
Rugby  boy's  life  of  that  (biy —  tlie  first  sermon  from  tlie 
Doctor.  .  .  .  The  tall,  gallant  form,  the  kindling  eye, 
tlie  voice,  now  soft  as  the  low  notes  of  a  tiute,  now  clear 
and  stirring  as  the  call  of  tlie  light  infantry  bugle,  of  him 
who  stood  there  Sunday  after  Sunday,  witnessing  and 
pleading  for  his  Lord,  the  King  of  righteousness,  and 
love,  and  glory,  with  whose  spirit  he  was  filled,  and  in 
whose  power  he  spoke.  .  .  . 

"But  what  was  it,  after  all,  which  seized  and  held 
these  three  hundred  boys,  dragging  them  out  of  them- 
selves, willingly  or  unwillingly,  for  twenty  minutes  on 
Sunday  afternoon  ?  True,  there  always  were  boys  scat- 
tered up  and  down  the  school,  who  in  heart  and  head 
were  worthy  to  hear  and  able  to  carry  away  the  deepest 
and  wisest  words  there  spoken.  But  those  were  a 
minority  always,  generally  a  very  small  one.  .  .  . 

"  What  was  it  that  moved  and  held  us,  the  rest  of  the 
three  hundred  scliolars,  childish  boys,  who  feared  the 
Doctor  with  all  our  hearts,  and  very  little  besides  in 
heaven  or  earth ;  who  thought  more  of  our  sets  in  the 
school  than  of  the  Church  of  (Hirist,  and  i)ut  the 
traditions  of  Ilugby  and  the  jmblic  oj)iiiion  of  boys  in 
our  daily  life  above  the  laws  of  God  ? 

"  We  couldn't  enter  into  half  that  we  heard  ;  we  hadn't 
the  knowledge  of  our  own  hearts  or  the  knowledge  of  one 
another,  and  little  enough  of  the  faith,  hope,  and  love 
needed  to  that  end.  But  we  listened,  as  all  boys  in  their 
better  moods  will  listen  (ay,  and  men,  too,  for  the  ninttcr 
of  that),  to  a  man  whom  we  felt  to  be,  with  all  his  heart, 


160  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

and  soul,  ana  strength,  striving  against  whatever  was 
mean  and  unmanly  and  unrigliteous  in  our  little  world." 

Another  pupil  writes  of  these  sermons :  "  1  used  to 
listen  to  them  from  first  to  last  wit"!!  a  kind  of  awe,  and 
over  and  over  again  could  not  join  my  friends  at  the 
chapel  door,  but  would  walk  home  to  be  alone;  and  I 
remember  the  same  effects  being  produced  by  them,  more 
or  less,  on  otliers,  whom  I  should  tliink  Arnold  looked 
on  as  some  of  the  worst  boys  in  the  school." 

The  influence  at  liugby  under  Arnold  was  thoroughly 
Christian,  though  never  sectarian.  Harry  East,  the 
friend  of  Tom  Brown  (Thomas  Hughes)  went  to  Arnold 
to  talk  with  him  about  b:'ing  confirmed.  "  When  I 
stuck,"  says  East,  "he  lifted  me,  just  as  if  1  had  been  a 
little  cliild  ;  and  he  seemed  to  know  all  I'd  felt,  and  to 
have  gone  through  it  all.  And  I  burst  out  crying —  inore 
than  I've  done  this  five  years  ;  and  he  sat  down  by  me 
and  stroked  my  head ;  and  1  went  blund(>ring  on.  .  .  . 
And  he  wasn't  shocked  a  bit,  and  didn't  snub  me,  or  tell 
me  I  was  a  fool  .  .  .  and  he  didn't  give  me  any  cut-and- 
dried  explanation.  lUit  wlien  I'd  done,  he  just  talked  a 
bit  —  I  can  hardly  remember  what  he  said  yet ;  but  it 
seemed  to  spread  round  me  like  healing,  and  strengtli, 
and  light;  and  to  bear  me  up  and  plant  me  on  a  rock, 
where  I  could  hold  my  footing  and  fight  for  myself.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do,  I  feel  so  happy." 

While  Arnold  loved  his  boys,  and  felt  the  keenest 
interest  in  them,  he  did  not  forget  his  own  mental  re- 
quirements. "  He  is  the  best  tciicher  of  others,"  he 
said,  "who  is  best  tauglit  himself;  that  which  we  know 
and  love  we  cannot  but  communicate.  ...  I  hold  that 
a  man  is  only  fit  to  teach  so  long  as  he  is  himself  learn- 
ing daily.     If  the  mind  once  becomes  stagnant,  it  can 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  IGl 

give  no  fresh  draught  to  another  mind;  it  is  drinking 
out  of  a  pond  instead  of  from  a  spring.  ...  1  think  it 
essential  that  I  should  not  give  up  my  own  reading,  as  I 
always  find  aiiy  addition  of  knowledge  to  turn  to  ac- 
count for  the  school  in  some  way  or  other." 

While  his  great  desire  for  his  boys  was  "  moral 
thoughtfulness  :  the  liiijulfing  love  of  truth  (joing  along 
with  the  devoted  love  of  goodness,'^  lie  insisted  on  liveli- 
ness in  his  teachers :  "  It  is  a  great  matter  to  make  these 
boys  understand  that  liveliness  is  not  folly  and  tliought- 
lessness.  A  schoolmaster's  intercourse  is  with  the  young, 
the  strong,  and  the  happy ;  and  he  cannot  get  on  with 
them  unless  in  animal  spirits  he  can  sympathize  with 
them,  and  show  them  that  his  thouglitfulness  is  not  con- 
nected with  selfishness  or  weakness.  .  .  .  He  who  likes 
boys  has  probably  a  daily  sympathy  with  them." 

One  great  secret  of  Arnold's  success  was  that  he  lov^ed 
his  work.  Not  that  he  had  not  strong  ambitions  like 
other  men.  He  said,  ''  I  believe  that,  naturally,  I  am 
one  of  the  most  ambitious  men  alive,"  and  thought  that 
"the  three  great  objects  of  human  ambition"  which 
would  attract  him,  were  "to  be  tlie  prime  minister  of  a 
great  kingdom,  the  governor  of  a  great  empire,  or  tlie 
writer  of  works  wliicli  sliould  live  in  every  age  and  in 
every  country."  But  lie  felt  that  (Jod  had  ojientHl  a 
great  school  to  him,  and  that  his  path  of  duty  was  clearly 
marked  out. 

He  grew  tired,  as  do  others,  with  what  he  felt  to  be 
very  hard  work,  as  all  know  who  have  tried  teaching, 
and  almost  yearly  took  a  journey  on  the  Continent  for 
rest  and  change. 

"  I  liunger  sometimes,"  he  said,  "  for  more  time  for 
writing;  but  I  do  not  indulge   the  feeling,  and  on  the 


1C2  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

other  hand,  I  think  my  love  of  tuition  rather  grows  upon 
me.  .  .  .  The  work  here  is  more  and  more  engrossing 
continually,  but  1  like  it  better  and  better;  it  has  all 
the  interest  of  a  great  game  of  chess,  with  living  crea- 
tures for  pawns  and  pieces."  No  one  ever  studied  the 
game  more  intently. 

"  Do  you  see  those  two  boys  walking  together  ?  "  he 
said  to  an  assistant  master.  "  1  never  saw  them  togetlier 
before ;  you  should  make  an  especial  point  of  observing 
the  company  they  keep ;  nothing  so  tells  the  changes  in 
a  boy's  character." 

He  deprecated  such  long  terms  for  boys  or  masters  as 
twenty -one  weeks,  and  wished  for  more  "  co-operation  in 
our  system  of  public  education,  including  both  the  great 
schools  and  the  universities." 

Besides  his  teaching,  Arnold  did  much  writing  of 
pamphlets  and  books.  "I  must  write  or  die,"  was  an 
expression  wliich  he  often  used.  His  pamphlet  on 
"  The  Christian  Duty  of  Conceding  the  Koman  Catholic 
Claims,"  in  1828,  Avhereby  many  of  their  civil  and  polit- 
ical disabilities  were  to  be  removed,  created  great  bit- 
terness of  feeling  against  him.  Sir  Kobert  Feel,  the 
leader  of  the  House  of  Commons,  was  also  fighting  the 
battles  for  the  Eoman  Catliolics  of  Ireland,  and  probably 
saved  England  from  a  civil  Avar  by  his  advocacy.  JUit 
toleration  was  as  rare  nearly  a  century  ago  as  it  is  to- 
day, and  Arnold  soon  received  abuse  from  puli)it  and 
pew. 

He  was  the  devoted  friend  of  tlie  poor  and  the 
laborers.  In  1831  Arnold  started  the  En f/ lis Ii memo's 
lierfisfer,  a  weekly  newspaper,  with  the  liope  of  telling 
tlie  people  "  the  evils  that  exist,  and  lead  tliem,  if  I  can, 
to  their  causes  and  their  remedies." 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  103 

"  If  the  clergy  would  come  forward,"  he  writes  to  his 
beloved  sister  Susannah,  "  as  one  man,  from  Cumberland 
to  Cornwall,  exhorting  peaceableness  on  the  one  side  and 
justice  on  the  other,  denouncing  the  high  rents  and  the 
game  laws,  and  the  carelessness  which  keeps  the  ])()or 
ignorant,  and  then  wonders  that  they  art;  brutal,  I 
verily  believe  they  might  yet  save  themselves  and  the 
State."  .  .  . 

To  the  Rev.  Augustus  Hare,  he  writes  ;  ''  Unquestion- 
ably our  aristocratic  manners  and  habits  have  made  us 
.  and  the  poor  two  distinct  and  unsynipatliizing  bodies ; 
and  from  want  of  sympathy  I  fear  the  transition  to  en- 
mity is  but  too  easy  when  distress  embitters  the  feelings, 
and  the  sight  of  others  in  luxury  makes  that  distress 
still  more  intolerable.  This  is  the  plague-spot,  to  my 
mind,  in  our  whole  state  of  society,  which  must  be  re- 
moved, or  the  whole  must  perish." 

He  rejoiced  that  some  of  the  leading  manufacturers 
"  are  considering  that  their  workmen  have  something  else 
besides  hands  belonging  to  thorn,  and  are  beginning  to 
attend  to  the  welfare  of  that  sonu^thing." 

The  licfjister  soon  died,  because  Arnold  could  not 
give  all  the  time  needed  to  conduct  it,  or  the  large 
amount  of  money  necessary  to  start  and  carry  on  a 
wct'kly  paper.  His  articles,  however,  about  laborers 
were  cojiied  into  the  Sheffield  Coiirant,  and  lie  was  asked 
to  continue  his  writings  for  its  columns. 

He  was  always  a  nobh>  friend  to  the  poor.  At  Laleham 
and  Ivugby  he  gave  lectures  in  their  interest,  and  was 
often  seen  in  their  liomes.  "  I  never  knew  such  an 
humble  man  as  the  doctor,"  said  the  ])arish  ch^k  at 
,  Laleliam;  "he  comes  and  shakes  us  by  tlu»  liand  as  if 
he  was  one  of  us."     At  liis  later  home  in  Westmoreland 


1G4  THOMAS  AI2N0LD. 

a  poor  -woman  saiil,  "He  used  to  come  into  my  liouse 
and  talk  to  me  as  if  I  was  a  lady." 

"Prayer  and  kindly  inteicourse  with  the  poor,"  said 
Arnold,  "  are  the  two  great  safeguards  of  spiritual  life ; 
its  more  than  food  and  raiment."' 

Dr.  Arnold  held  that  there  "are  but  two  things  of 
vital  importance,"  which  Algernon  Sidney  calls  IJeligion 
and  Politics,  "  but  which  I  would  rather  call  our  duties 
and  affections  toward  God,  and  our  duties  and  feelings 
toward  men ;  science  and  literature  are  but  a  poor  make- 
up for  the  want  of  these." 

At  one  time  Arnold  was  very  anxious  to  start  a  jour- 
nal, a  portion  of  which  should  be  devoted  regularly  to 
such  subjects  as  history,  statistics  of  diiferent  comitries, 
and  the  like.  "All  instruction  must  be  systematic,"  he 
said,  "  and  it  is  this  which  the  jjcople  want." 

Without  doubt  Arnold  was  right.  He  coidd  not  tlien 
foresee  how  the  newspai)ers  of  to-day,  with  their  syndi- 
cate novels,  travels,  and  biogi-aphy,  were  to  take  the 
place  of  books  in  very  many  families.  The  life  and 
times  of  Lincoln  in  the  CeMturij  ]\ragazine  was  a  great 
step  in  the  right  direction.  Sometime,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
our  newspapers,  instead  of  containing  so  much  that  is 
neither  helpful  nor  lasting,  will  be  the  schools  of  the 
people,  teaching  history,  political  economy,  and  helpful 
biography. 

While  Arnold  Avas,  above  all  things,  devoted  to  one 
central  idea,  "  One  name  there  is,  and  one  alone  —  Jesus 
Christ,  both  God  and  man,"  yet  he  said,  "  I  never  wanted 
articles  on  religious  subjects  half  so  much  as  articles  on 
common  subjects  written  with  a  decidedly  Christian 
tone.  History  and  biograjthy  are  far  bettc^r  vehicles  f)f 
good,  I  think,  than  any  direct  comments  on  Scripture, 
or  essays  on  evidences." 


THOMAS  ARNOLD  165 

Arnold  used  to  say,  "  Above  all,  be  afraid  of  teaching 
nothing  ;  it  is  vain  now  to  say  that  questions  of  religion 
and  politics  are  above  the  understanding  of  the  poorer 
classes  —  so  they  may  be,  but  they  are  not  above  their 
misunderstanditig,  and  they  Avill  think  and  talk  about 
them,  so  that  they  luid  best  be  tauglit  to  think  and  talk 
rightly." 

In  1833  Arnold  published  a  pamphlet  on  Church  lie- 
form.  He  believed  in  a  union  of  Church  and  State,  but 
wished  to  bring  Dissenters  within  the  })ale  of  the  Estab- 
lislied  Church.  He  would  give  them  the  use  of  the 
churches  for  worship,  with  different  hours  for  their 
services.  He  did  not  believe  in  the  Apostolical  succes- 
sion, and  de])recated  all  divisions  among  Cliristians.  He 
longed  to  see  all  united  on  one  foundation  stone,  the 
Saviour  of  men. 

The  Church  lleform  pamphlet  went  rapidly  througli 
four  editions,  and  aroused  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  invec- 
tive. Arnold  was  denounced  by  the  Established  Church 
because  too  liberal ;  by  Dissenters  as  not  liberal  enough  ; 
by  Conservatives  in  politics  as  one  revolutionary  in  doc- 
trine and  too  thoroughly  a  friend  of  the  people ;  by 
other  educators  as  the  unwise  head  of  a  new  system 
which  bade  fair  to  destroy  tlu^  old.  The  sah^  ot  his  ser- 
mons—  he  had  published  two  or  three  volumes  —  was 
stopped.  Some  of  his  friends  even  dropped  their  inter- 
course with  him. 

"  The  strong,  great  man  was  startled,"  says  Dean  Stan- 
ley, *' but  not  moved  by  this  continued  outcry." 

He  resolved  not  to  answer  anybody  through  the  news- 
papers. "  All  that  is  Avanted,"  he  said,  "  is  to  inspire 
firmness  into  the  minds  of  those  engaged  in  the  conduct 
of  the  school,  lest  their  own  confidence  should  be  im- 


166  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

paired  by  a  succession  of  attacks,  which  I  suppose  is 
unparalleled  in  the  experience  of  schools." 

When  the  controversy  was  at  its  height,  he  voted  for 
the  Liberal  candidate,  '•  foreseeing,"  as  Stanley  says, 
''  as  he  must  have  done,  the  burst  of  indignation  which 
followed." 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said,  *'  to  write  a  book  on  *  The 
Theory  of  Tides,'  the  flood  and  ebb  of  .parties.  The 
English  nation  are  like  a  man  in  a  letliargy  ;  they  are 
never  roused  from  their  conservatism  till  mustard  poul- 
tices are  jjut  to  their  feet." 

He  wrote  in  1833,  "  May  God  grant  to  my  sons,  if  they 
live  to  manhood,  an  unshaken  love  of  truth  and  a  firm 
resolution  to  follow  it  for  themselves,  with  an  intense 
abhorrence  of  all  party  ties,  save  that  one  tie  which 
binds  them  to  the  party  of  Christ  against  wickedness." 

Two  years  later  he  wrote,  "  The  only  hope  is  with  the 
young,  if  by  any  means  they  can  be  led  to  think  for 
themselves  without  following  a  party,  and  to  love  what 
is  good  and  true,  let  them  find  it  where  they  will." 

Arnold  went  steadily  forward  with  his  scholarly  work, 
bringing  out  in  1835  the  last  volume  of  his  edition  of 
Thueydides,  and  resumed  his  labor  on  his  "Roman  His- 
tory." He  thought  "  brevity  and  simplicity  "  two  of  the 
greatest  merits  wliich  style  can  have,  and  ap])lied  these 
rules  to  liis  own  accurate  and  thorough  workmanship. 

His  eyes  were  often  turned  towards  America,  which  he 
foresaw  would  solve  many  of  the  old  world  ])roV)lems. 
To  Jacob  Abbott  he  wrote  concerning  "  The  Young 
Christian,"  "  The  publication  of  a  work  like  yours  in 
America  was  far  more  delightful  to  me  than  its  publica- 
tion in  England  could  have  been.  Nothing  can  be  more 
important  to  the  future  welfare  of  mankind,  than  that 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  167 

God's  people,  serving  Him  in  power  and  in  love,  and 
in  a  sound  mind,  should  deeply  influence  the  national 
character  of  the  United  States." 

Later  he  writes  to  his  friend  Chevalier  Bunsen,  "  so 
beautifully  good,  so  wise,  and  so  noble-minded  ! "  "I 
hear,  both  from  India  and  the  Mediterranean,  the  most 
delightful  account  of  the  zeal  and  resources  of  the  Ameri- 
can missionaries,  that  none  are  doing  so  much  in  the 
cause  of  Christ  as  tliey  are.  They  will  take  our  })lace 
in  the  wt)rld,  I  think  not  unworthily,  though  Avith  far 
less  advantages,  in  many  respects,  than  those  which  we 
have  so  fatally  wasted." 

While  the  storm  raged  around  him,  he  enjoyed  great 
peace  and  comfort  in  his  home  life.  Jle  romped  with 
his  children,  gathered  flowers  with  them,  and  climbed 
mountains  like  a  boy.  "  I  do  not  wonder,"  he  said, 
"  that  it  was  thought  a  great  misfortune  to  die  chiklless 
in  old  times,  when  they  had  not  fuller  light  —  it  seems 
so  comj)lete]y  wiping  a  man  out  of  existence."  He  wrote 
Coleridge,  "  What  men  do  in  middle  life  without  a  wife 
and  children  to  turn  to,  I  cannot  imagine  ;  for  I  think  the 
affections  must  be  sadly  checked  and  chilled,  even  in  the 
best  men,  by  their  intercourse  with  people,  such  as  one 
usually  finds  them  in  the  world.  .  .  .  l>ut  with  a  home 
filled  with  those  whom  we  entirely  love  and  sympathize 
with,  and  with  some  old  friends,  to  whom  out;  can  oj)en 
one's  heart  fully  from  time  to  time,  the  world's  society 
has  rather  a  bracing  infliunice  to  make  one  shake  oft' 
mere  dreams  of  deliglit." 

Archbishop  Whately  said  of  Arnold,  "  He  was  attached 
to  his  family  as  if  he  had  no  friends  ;  to  his  friends  as 
if  he  had  no  family  ;  and  to  his  country  as  if  he  had  no 
friends  or  relations." 


168  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

Dr.  Arnold's  married  life  was  very  happy.  He  wrote 
his  "  Dearest  Mary  "  on  their  wedding-day  ;  "  How  much 
of  hai)i)iness  and  of  cause  for  the  deepest  thankfulness 
is  contained  in  the  recollections  of  this  day ;  for  in  the 
ten  years  that  have  elapsed  since  our  marriage,  there  has 
been  condensed,  I  supi)Ose,  as  great  a  i)()rti()n  of  hapj)i- 
ness,  with  as  little  alloy,  as  ever  marked  any  ten  years 
of  human  existence." 

To  his  servants  he  was  extremely  kind  and  considerate, 
as  are  all  true  gentlemen  and  well-bred  women.  '*  He 
was  in  the  habit,"  says  Stanley,  "  whether  in  travelling 
or  in  his  own  house,  of  consulting  their  accommodation 
and  speaking  to  them  familiarly  as  to  so  many  members 
of  the  domestic  circle." 

In  1832  Arnold  had  purchased  a  small  estate.  Fox 
How,  between  Rydal  and  Ambleside,  among  the  English 
lakes.  "  It  is,"  he  said,  "  with  a  mixed  feeling  of  so- 
lemnity and  tenderness  that  I  regard  our  mountain  nest, 
whose  surpassing  sweetness,  I  think  I  may  safely  say, 
adds  a  positive  hai)piness  to  every 'one  of  my  waking 
hours  passed  in  it."  He  loved  every  tree,  every  rock, 
every  flower,  "as  a  child  loves  tlieni."  The  tliree  roads 
he  often  used  to  walk  ui)on  with  his  children  he  called 
"  Old  Corrui)tion,"  an  iriegular,  grassy  path;  ''  l'>it-l)y-l)it 
Reform;"  and  "  Radical  Reform,"  a  straight,  good  road. 

The  mountains  were  an  especial  delight.  The  impres- 
sion they  gave  him,  he  said,  "was  never  one  of  bleakness 
or  wildness,  but  of  a  sort  of  paternal  shelter  and  i)rotec- 
tion  to  the  valley." 

Here  tlie  woik  went  on  as  elsewhere.  "  All  the  morn- 
ing, till  one  o'clock,"  he  wrote,  "  I  used  to  sit  in  one 
corner  of  the  drawing-room,  not  looking  towards  Fair- 
field lest  I  should  be  constantly  tempted  from  my  Avork, 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  169 

and  there  I  worked  on  at  the  '  Roman  History '  and  the 
'  Tudor  Tables,'  and  Appius  Claudius  and  Cincinnatus, 
and  all  the  rest  of  them." 

The  "Roman  History"  was  never  finished.  The  third 
volume,  published  after  his  death,  Archdeacon  Hare 
thinks  the  first  history  which  "  has  given  anything  like 
an  adequate  representation  of  the  wonderful  genius  and 
noble  character  of  Hannibal." 

Dr.  Arnold  took  an  active  part  in  the  opposition  to 
"The  Tracts  for  the  Times,"  when  John  Henry  New- 
man went  from  the  High  Church  Party  of  Oxford  to  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  became  a  cardinal.  "  I 
groan,"  he  said,  "  over  the  divisions  of  the  church,  of  all 
our  evils  I  think  the  greatest  .  .  .  that  men  shoidd  call 
themselves  Roman  Catholics,  Church  of  England  men. 
Baptists,  Quakers,  all  sorts  of  ajjpellations,  forgetting 
that  only  glorious  name  of  Chkistiax,  which  is  common 
to  all,  and  a  true  bond  of  union." 

In  1835  Arnold  accepted  a  fellowship  in  the  Senate  of 
the  new  London  University,  with  the  hope  that  he  could 
make  it  as  he  said,  "  Christian,  yet  not  sectarian."  He 
wished  an  examination  in  the  Scriptures  to  be  a  part  of 
the  University  work,  but  as  the  University  from  its 
charter  was  intended  for  all  denominations,  without  re- 
gard to  belief,  he  was  overruled,  and  resigned  his  j)osi- 
tioii.  While  he  thanked  Parliament  "for  having  ddue 
away  with  distinctions  between  Christian  and  Cliris- 
tian  " — Dissenters  had  been  excluded  heretofore  from 
degrees  at  tht^  universities  because  not  belonging  to  the 
Kstablislied  ('hurch  —  "I  would  pray,"  he  said,  "■  tliat 
distinctions  be  kept  up  between  Christians  and  non- 
Christians." 

It  is  surpiising  to  read  that  a  man  so  broad  and  great 


170  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

as  Dr.  Arnold  thouglit  the  Jews,  because  unbelievers, 
"have  no  claim  whatever  of  political  right,"  —  "no  claim 
to  become  citizens,  but  by  conforming  to  our  moral  law, 
which  is  the  Gospel,"  —  and  petitioned  against  the  re- 
moval of  their  civil  disabilities.  Mr.  Gladstone  was  also 
against  the  removal,  but  ha])pily  changed  his  opinions, 
and  spoke  in  behalf  of  the  Jews  in  1847. 

When  the  Chartists  were  demanding  a  people's  charter 
with  universal  suffrage  for  men,  and  other  reforms, 
Arnold  was  greatly  moved.  He  began  a  correspondence 
with  Carlyle,  urging  that  a  society  be  formed  "  for  draw- 
ing public  attention  to  the  state  of  the  laboring  classes 
throughout  the  kingdom."  He  believed  that  the  "upper 
classes  would  make  sacrifices,"  if  the  real  condition  of 
tlie  poor  and  tlie  workers  could  be  brought  to  their 
knowledge.  "  Men  do  not  think  of  the  fearful  state  in 
which  we  are  living,"  he  said ;  and  he  did  not  desj)air  of 
a  remedy,  "even  tliough  it  is  the  solution  of  the  most 
difficult  problem  ever  yet  proposed  to  man's  wisdom, 
and  the  greatest  triumph  over  selfishness  ever  yet  re- 
quired of  his  virtue." 

We  in  America  are  facing  the  same  problems ;  and 
there  was  never  more  need  for  tlie  "  upper  classes  to 
make  sacrifices,"  and  live  unselfish  lives  for  the  good  of 
their  country,  than  now.  We  need  to  keep  ever  before  us 
the  Bible  message,  "  For  none  of  us  liveth  to  himself." 

Arnold  believed  rightly  in  each  one  doing  his  share  of 
the  world's  work  and  duties.  "  There  is  no  earthly 
thing,"  he  said,  "  more  mean  and  despicable  in  my  mind 
than  an  English  gentleman  destitute  of  all  sense  of  his 
responsibilities  and  opportunities,  and  only  revelling  in 
the  luxuries  of  our  high  civilization,  and  thinking  him- 
self a  great  person." 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  171 

He  wrote  to  a  pupil  who  had  become  a  physician,  "  It 
is  a  real  pleasure  to  uie  to  find  that  you  are  taking 
steadily  to  a  profession,  without  which  I  scarcely  see 
how  a  man  can  live  honestly.  I  use  the  term  *  profes- 
sion '  in  rather  a  large  sense  ...  a  definite  field  of 
duty,  which  the  nobleman  has  as  much  as  the  tailor,  but 
which  he  has  not,  who,  having  an  income  large  enough 
to  keep  him  from  starving,  hangs  about  upon  life,  merely 
following  his  own  caprices  and  fancies." 

Again  he  writes  to  a  friend,  "  I  would  far  rather  send 
a  boy  to  Van  Diemen's  Land,  where  he  must  work  for 
his  bread,  than  send  him  to  Oxford  to  live  in  luxury, 
Avithout  any  desire  in  his  mind  to  avail  himself  of  his 
advantages."  As  the  years  went  by,  the  sjiirit  of  oppo- 
sition against  Arnold  seemed  to  die  out,  and  the  school 
at  Rugby  gained  continually  in  numbers  and  influence. 
He  was  presented  to  the  Queen ;  he  went  up  to  Oxford 
to  see  degrees  conferred  upon  Wordsworth  and  lUinsen ; 
he  published  more  volumes  of  sermons  —  six  in  all  — 
and  two  volumes  of  his  admirable  "  Homan  History." 

In  1841  he  was  appointed  by  Lord  Melbourne,  Regius 
Professor  of  Modern  History  at  Oxford,  the  chair  being 
made  vacant  by  the  death  of  Dr.  Nares.  This  gave 
liim  great  pleasure,  and  with  enthusiasm  he  began  to 
prepare  his  lectures. 

He  gave  his  first  lecture  Dec.  2,  1S41,  in  the  "th('atr*»," 
the  usual  lecture-rooms  in  the  Clarendon  JJuildings  being 
too  small  for  the  hundreds  who  crowded  to  hear  him. 
"It  was  an  audience,"  says  De;in  Stanley,  "unprece- 
dented in  the  range  of  academical  memory." 

He  designed  to  give  a  yearly  course  of  eight  lectures, 
beginning  witli  the  fourteenth  century.  Some  of  his 
lectures  were  to  be  biographical :  "  The  life  and  times  of 


172  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

Pope  Grogcny,  or  the  Great,"  Charlemagne,  Alfred, 
Dante,  and  "the  noblest  and  holiest  of  monarchs,  Louis 
IX." 

He  wrote  Coleridge  before  going  to  Oxford,  "  If  I  do 
go  up,  many  things,  I  can  assure  you,  have  been  in  my 
thoughts,  which  I  wished  gradually  to  call  men's  atten- 
tion to;  one  in  particular,  which  seems  to  me  a  great 
scandal  —  the  debts  contracted  by  the  young  men,  and 
their  backwardness  in  pa3ing  them.  I  think  that  no 
part  of  this  evil  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  tradesmen, 
because  so  completely  are  the  tradesmen  at  the  mercy  of 
the  undergraduates,  that  no  man  dares  refuse  to  give 
credit ;  if  he  did,  his  shop  would  be  abandoned." 

Arnold  still  continued  his  work  at  Rugby,  remaining 
in  part  because  two  of  his  sons  were  being  educated 
there.  He  was  also  making  iinal  arrangements  for  an 
edition  of  St.  Paul's  Epistles. 

The  last  lecture  of  his  firs^t  year  at  Oxford,  June  2, 
1842,  was  abandoned  for  the  time,  on  account  of  a  brief, 
but  sudden  illness.  June  o  he  preached  his  farewell 
sermon  to  the  Rugby  boys,  before  the  vacation ;  and 
Friday,  June  10,  was  the  public-day  for  school  speeches. 

Saturday  he  was  in  high  sjiirits,  taking  his  usual  walk 
and  bath,  and  conversing  with  his  guests  on  social  and 
historical  topics.  In  the  evening  he  gave  a  supper  to 
some  of  the  higher  classes  of  the  school. 

H(!  wrote  in  his  diary  that  evening,  June  11,  1S42: 
"  The  day  after  to-morrow  is  my  birthday,  if  I  am  per- 
mitted to  live  to  see  it  —  my  forty-seventh  birthday  since 
my  birth.  How  large  a  portion  of  my  life  on  earth  is 
already  passed.  .  .  .  Ihit  above  all,  let  me  mind  my  own 
personal  work  —  to  keep  myself  pure  and  zealous  and 
believing  —  laboring  to  do  God's  will,  yet  not  anxious 


THOMAS  ARNOLD.  173 

that  it  should  be  doue  by  me  rather  than  by  others,  if 
God  disapproves  of  my  doing  it." 

Between  five  and  six  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  he 
awoke  Avith  a  sharp  pain  across  his  chest.  He  lay  with 
his  hands  clasped  and  his  eyes  raised  upwards,  while  lie 
repeated,  "  And  Jesus  said  unto  him,  Thomas,  because 
thou  hast  seen  me,  thou  hast  believed  :  blessed  are  they 
that  have  not  seen,  and  yet  have  believed." 

Against  Arnold's  wish,  his  Avife  sent  for  a  physician. 
Meantime  she  read  to  him  in  the  Prayer  Book,  the  fifty- 
first  psalm.  The  twelfth  verse,  "  O  give  me  the  comfort 
of  thy  help  again,  and  establish  me  with  thy  free  spirit," 
he  repeated  after  her  very  earnestly. 

The  physician  soon  came,  and  Arnold,  asking  the  cause 
of  the  pain,  was  told  that  it  was  spasm  of  the  heart. 

"  Is  it  generally  fatal  ?  "  asked  Arnold.  "  Yes,  I  am 
afraid  it  is,"  was  the  reply. 

Soon  after  the  doctor  left  the  house  for  medicine,  and 
the  son  Thomas  entered  the  room.  "  Thank  God,  Tom," 
said  Arnold,  "  for  giving  me  this  ])ain;  I  have  suffered 
so  little  ])ain  in  my  life,  that  I  feel  it  is  very  good  for 
me  J  now  God  has  given  it  to  me,  and  1  do  so  thank  H'im 
for  it." 

His  son  said,  "  I  wish,  dear  papa,  we  had  you  at  Fox 
How."  He  made  no  reply,  but  smiled  tenderly  upon  the 
boy  and  his  mother. 

The  doctor  soon  came;  and  as  he  was  dro])piiig  the 
huulaiuim  into  a  glass,  Arnold  asked  what  medicine  it 
was.     On  being  told,  he  in^plicd.  '•  Ah.  very  well." 

In  a  moment  there  was  a  convulsive  struggle,  then  a 
few  deep  gasps,  and  the  work  of  the  great  teacher  was 
over. 

Five   of   their    nine    children   were   waiting   for  their 


174  THOMAS  ARNOLD. 

father  at  Fox  How,  to  celebrate  his  forty-seventh  birth- 
day, and  returned  to  liugby  for  the  burial.  The  news 
brought  bewilderment  and  deep  sorrow  to  Kugby,  to 
Oxford,  to  London,  and  indeed  to  the  whole  of  England. 

On  the  following  Friday  he  was  buried  in  the  chancel, 
immediately  under  the  communion-table.  How  many  of 
us  Americans  have  stood  by  that  sacred  spot,  and  remem- 
bered how  one  good  man  can  bring  honor  to  his  work  and 
nation ! 

Out  of  gratitude  for  his  services  in  the  cause  of  educa- 
tion, a  public  subscription  was  at  once  started.  The 
money  subscribed  was  used  to  erect  his  monument  in 
Rugby  Chapel,  Chevalier  Bunsen  writing  an  epitaph  for 
it  in  imitation  of  those  on  the  tombs  of  the  Scipios,  and 
of  the  early  Christian  inscriptions;  and  for  scholarships, 
first  to  be  used  by  his  sons,  and  afterwards  for  the 
I^romotion  of  general  study  at  llugby,  and  history  at 
Oxford. 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 


The  great  orator,  thinker,  and  leader  was  of  tlie  best 
blood  of  New  England.  Educated,  brilliant,  aristocratic, 
he  gave  his  life  to  the  lowly.  No  such  self-sacrihce  can 
ever  be  forgotten.  His  name  will  live  as  long  as  Amer- 
ican history  is  read. 

Wendell  Phillips  was  born  in  a  stately  mansion  on 
Beacon  Street,  Boston,  Nov.  29,  1811,  the  eighth  in  a 
family  of  nine  children.  The  father  was  the  Hon.  John 
Phillips,  a  rich  merchant,  a  judge  of  tlie  Coiirt  of  Com- 
mon Pleas,  a  member  of  the  corporation  of  Harvard 
College,  and  of  the  convention  whicli  revised  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  State  ;  elected  to  the  House  of  Eepresen- 
tatives,  and  later  to  the  Senate  till  his  death ;  tl»e  first 
mayor  of  Boston;  honored  for  a  noble  heart  as  well  as 
for  gifts  of  speech,  and  worthy  to  be  the  parent  of  such 
a  son  as  Wendell. 

Sally  Walley,  the  mother,  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
nu^rchant,  well-educated  and  of  strong  nature,  soon  ]ier- 
ceived  the  unusual  talents  of  her  son.  Her  earliest  gift 
to  him  was  a  Bible,  which  was  one  of  liis  most  prized 
treasures  for  seventy  years. 

Affectionate  and  domestic  by  nature,  "  Wendell's  love 
for  his  mother  was  a  passion,"  says  the  Rev.  Carlos 
Martyn,  in  his  life  of  I'hillips.  Her  advice  to  him  al- 
ways was,   "  Be   good  and  do  good ;  tliis  is  my  whole 

175 


170  WENDELL    PHILLIPS. 

desire  for  you."  From  her  lie  learned  his  Bible  and  the 
catechism ;  and  years  after,  when  he  stood  like  a  great 
oak  in  the  forest,  beat  upon  by  wind  and  storm,  lie  never 
forgot  to  keep  his  trust  where  liis  mother  first  taught 
him  to  place  it. 

From  her  knowledge  and  common  sense  in  political 
and  mercantile  affairs,  he  judged  that  other  women  must 
be  able  to  take  part  in  the  world's  work,  and  therefore 
through  life  lie  asked  for  tliem  an  equal  place  in  liome 
and  state. 

When  a  child  he  enjoyed  tools,  and  would  have  made 
a  good  carpenter  or  engineer.  As  his  ancestors  were 
mostly  preachers  —  he  was  descended  from  the  Rev. 
George  Phillips,  who  came  from  Great  Britain  in  1630, 
and  was  settled  at  Watertown,  j\Iass.,  for  fourteen  years, 
till  his  death  —  Wendell  seemed  inclined  to  follow  in 
their  footsteps ;  for  Avhen  he  was  four  or  five  years  old, 
he  would  put  a  Bible  in  the  chair  before  him,  and,  ar- 
ranging other  chairs  in  a  circle,  wcmld  address  tliem  by 
the  hour, 

''Wendell,"  said  his  father,  "don't  you  get  tired  of 
this  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  "  /  don't  get  tired,  but  it's  rather 
hard  on  the  chairs  !  " 

His  most  intimate  playmate  was  J.  Lothrop  Motley, 
afterward  the  celebrated  historian.  Often,  in  the  Motley 
garret,  they  dressed  themselves  in  fancy  costume,  and 
declaimed  ])oetry  and  dialogue  ;  a  good  preparation  for 
the  after  years. 

At  eleven  years  of  age  Wendell  was  sent  to  the  Boston 
Latin  School,  then  on  School  Street,  where  the  Parker 
House  now  stands.  Here  he  met  and  became  the  warm 
friend  of  the  studious  Charles  Sumner. 


WENLELL   PUILLIPS.  177 

While  noted  for  Ids  love  of  books  and  power  in  decla- 
mation, he  was  also  fond  of  sports,  —  boating,  horseback- 
riding,  and  all  gymnastic  exercises.  He  was  tall,  graceful, 
and  handsome. 

In  1827,  when  he  was  sixteen,  he  entered  Harvard 
College,  whose  buildings,  noble  trees,  and  shaded  walks 
liave  become  dear  to  thousands,  and  will  be  through  all 
time.  The  widowed  mother  —  John  Phillips  had  been 
dead  four  years  —  gave  her  promising  boy  her  blessing, 
and  sent  him  out  into  the  world  to  make  a  man  of  him- 
self by  virtuous  and  noble  living,  or  to  spoil  liimself  by 
yielding  to  temptation,  as  he  should  elect.  He  chose  the 
former  course. 

He  became  the  intimate  friend  of  Edmund  Quincy,  the 
son  of  the  president  of  the  college,  Josiah  Quincy.  He 
stood  high  in  his  classes,  besides  reading  extensively  in 
genei-al  history  and  mechanics.  He  Avas  also  greatly 
interested  in  genealogy. 

Sir  Walter  Kaleigh,  Sir  Harry  Vane,  Oliver  Cromwell, 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague,  and  James  Watt  were 
among  his  English  heroes,  and  ]>enjamin  Franklin,  Sam- 
uel Adams,  and  Eli  Whitney  among  his  American.  Scott 
and  Victor  Hugo  were  great  favorites.  Elizabeth  l^arrett 
Browning  he  regarded  as  the  first  of  modern  poets. 
Through  life  he  was  an  omniverous  reader  of  news- 
])apers. 

He  was  versed  in  several  languages,  —  German,  Italian, 
and  Sj)anish,  but  French  was  liis  favorite  among  the 
modern  tongues.     He  was  always  skilled  in  Latin. 

Already  his  life  had  become  more  serious  tlirougli  the 
pr(>aching  of  Dr.  Lyman  Ueecher.  The  Rev.  Dr.  O.  P. 
Gifford  relates  tliat  Pliillips  once  told  a  friend  that  he 
asked  God  ''  that  whenever  a  thing  be  wrong  it  may  have 


178  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

no  power  of  temptation  over  me ;  whenever  a  thing  be 
right,  it  may  take  no  courage  to  do  it.  From  that  day  to 
this  it  has  been  so.  Whenever  I  have  known  a  thing 
to  be  wrong,  it  has  held  no  temptation.  Whenever  I 
have  known  a  thing  to  be  right,  it  has  taken  no  courage 
to  do  it." 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Edgar  Buckingham,  secretary  of  the  class 
of  1831,  says  :  "  I  remember  well  his  appearance  of  de- 
voutness  during  morning  and  evening  prayers  in  the 
chapel,  which  many  attended  only  to  save  their  credit 
with  the  autliorities.  Doddridge's  '  Expositor '  Wendell 
bore  to  college  in  his  Freshman  year  (a  present,  I  think, 
from  his  mother,  a  new  volume),  to  be  his  help  in  daily 
thought  and  prayer." 

Another  of  his  classmates  says :  "  Before  entering 
college  he  had  been  the  subject  of  religious  revival. 
Previous  to  that  he  used  to  give  way  to  violent  outbursts 
of  temper,  and  his  schoolmates  would  sometimes  amuse 
themselves  by  deliberately  working  him  into  a  passion. 
But  after  his  conversion  they  could  never  succeed  in  get- 
ting him  out  of  temper." 

"  He  had  a  deep  love  for  all  that  was  true  and  honor- 
able," said  his  room-mate,  the  Rev.  John  Tappan  Pierce 
of  Illinois,  "  always  detested  a  mean  action.  His  Bible 
was  always  open  on  the  centre-table.  His  chanicter  was 
perfectly  transparent ;  there  were  no  subterfuges,  no  pre- 
tences about  him.  He  Avas  known  by  all  to  be  just  what 
he  seemed.  .  .  .  As  an  orator,  Phillips  took  the  highest 
stand  of  any  graduate  of  our  day.  I  never  knew  him  to 
fail  in  anything  or  hesitate  in  a  recitation." 

Dr.  Buckingham  sjieaks  of  his  "  kindly,  generous  man- 
ner, his  brightness  of  mind,  his  perfect  purity  and  white- 
ness of  soul;  .  .  .  with  a  most  attractive  face,  'a  smile 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  179 

that  was  a  benediction,'  with  manners  of  superior  ele- 
gance, with  conversation  filled  with  the  charms  of  litera- 
ture, with  biography  and  history,  full  of  refined  pleasantry, 
...  it  was  no  wonder  that  his  society  was  courted  and 
respected  by  those  who  had  wealth  at  their  command, 
and  still  more  by  those  young  men  who  came  from  the 
South." 

He  was  a  member  of  the  "  Phi  Beta  Kappa,"  on  account 
of  his  scholarship,  and  president  of  the  exclusive  "  For- 
cellian  "  and  "  Hasty-Pudding  Club." 

After  graduation  Phillips  entered  the  Harvard  Law 
School,  under  the  brilliant  Judge  Story,  and  was  admitted 
to  the  bar  when  he  was  twenty-three. 

His  first  honor,  after  leaving  the  law  school,  was  the 
invitation  to  deliver  a  Fourth  of  July  address  at  New 
Bedford. 

Charles  T.  Congdon,  the  well-known  journalist,  says  : 
"  When  Phillips  stood  up  in  the  pulpit,  I  tliought  him 
the  handsomest  man  I  had  ever  seen.  When  he  began 
to  speak,  his  elocution  seemed  the  most  perfect  to  which 
I  had  ever  listened.  ...  He  was  speaking  of  the  i)oliti- 
cal  history  of  the  State,  and  of  its  frequent  isolation  in 
politics,  and  electrified  us  all  by  exclaiming,  '  Tlie  star  of 
Massachusetts  has  shone  the  brighter  for  shiningalone!'" 
How  little  he  foreknew  his  own  isolation  and  the  bright- 
ness of  the  star  which  shone  almost  alone  for  so  many 
years ! 

He  opened  an  office  on  Court  Street,  Boston,  and  began 
regular  work,  knowing  tliat  idleness  brings  no  fame,  lie 
drew  lip  legal  i)apers,  wills,  etc.,  and,  as  he  told  a  friend, 
during  "  those  two  opening  years  I  paid  all  my  expenses, 
and  few  do  it  now." 

On  the  afternoon  of  Oct.  21,  18.S5,  sitting  beside  an 


180  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

open  window  on  Court  Street,  he  saw  a  noisy  crowd  on 
Washington  Street ;  and  curiosity  prompted  him  to  put 
on  his  hat,  and  learn  the  reason  of  the  commotion.  He 
found  a  mob  of  four  or  five  thousand  men  trying  to  force 
their  way  into  tlie  office  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Society,  No. 
4()  Washington  Street,  wliere  the  Boston  Female  Anti- 
Slavery  Society  was  holding  its  meeting.  Warning  hand- 
bills had  been  circulated  about  the  city,  and  threats  had 
been  heard  concerning  the  women  if  they  attempted  to 
assemble  ;  yet  nobody  really  believed  that,  in  a  rich  and 
cultivated  city,  a  company  of  thirty  women  would  be 
mobbed  on  account  of  free  speech.  It  had  not  then 
become  apparent  that  the  North  was  bound  hand  and  foot 
by  the  slave-power. 

While  the  women  prayed,  the  "  broadcloth  "  mob,  of 
Avell-dressed  men,  in  large  jiart  "  gentlemen  of  property 
and  standing,"  were  yelling  and  cursing  outside.  Mayor 
Lyman  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  commanded  the 
women  to  disi)erse,  as  lie  was  ])owerless  to  protect  them 
from  bloodslied.  He  besouglit  the  mob  to  lay  down  their 
arms;  but  they  i)uslied  their  way  into  the  hall,  appropri- 
ated the  Testaments  and  Prayer-books,  and  then  began 
to  search  for  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  who  was  in  an 
adjoining  room.  He  escaped  across  a  roof,  by  the  advice 
of  the  Mayor,  but  was  cauglit  by  the  mob,  who  coiled  a 
rope  around  his  body,  and  dragged  him,  bare-headed,  and 
with  torn  garments,  into  State  Street,  toward  the  City 
Hall,  shouting,  "  Kill  him !  "     "  Hang  the  Abolitionist !  " 

He  Avas  taken  to  the  Mayor's  room,  ])rovided  with 
needful  clothing,  thrust  into  a  closed  carriage,  and  driven 
rapidly  to  jail,  "as  a  disturber  of  the  peace,"  but  in 
reality  to  save  his  life.  Tlie  mob  clung  to  tlie  wheels, 
dashed  open  tlie  doors,  seized  the  horses,  and  tried  to 


WENDELL    PHILLIPS.  181 

upset  the  carriage  ;  but  the  driver  hiid  his  whip  on  liorses 
and  heads  of  rioters  alike,  and  CJarrison  was  finally  safely 
locked  in  a  cell. 

Wendell  Philli})S  looked  on  bewildered,  and  seeing, 
near  by,  the  colonel  of  his  own  Suffolk  regiment,  in^which 
he  also  was  an  officer,  said,  "  Why  does  not  the  Mayor 
call  out  the  regiment  ?  Wq  would  cheerfully  take  arms 
in  such  a  case  as  this." 

Tlie  reply  was,  "  Don't  you  see  that  the  regiment  is  in 
the  mob  ?  " 

The  young  lawyer  went  back  to  his  office  sadly  and 
thoughtfully. 

He  said,  twenty  years  later,  before  the  anti-slavery 
meeting  on  the  anniversary  of  this  mob:  "Let  me  thank 
the  wonuMi  who  came  here  twenty  years  ago,  some  of 
whom  are  met  here  to-day,  for  the  good  they  have  done 
me.  I  tliank  them  for  all  they  have  taught  me.  1  had 
read  (jreek  and  Roman  and  English  history ;  I  luid  by 
heart  the  classic  eulogies  of  brave  old  men  and  martyrs  ; 
I  dreamed,  in  my  folly,  that  I  heard  the  same  tone  in  my 
youth  from  the  cuckoo  lips  of  Edward  Everett; — these 
women  taught  me  my  mistake.  Tliey  taught  me  tliat 
down  in  those  hearts,  whicli  loved  a  i)rinciple  for  itself, 
asked  no  man's  leave  to  think  or  speak,  true  to  their 
convictions,  no  matter  at  what  hazard,  flowed  the  real 
bh)od  of  TG,  of  1(540,  of  the  hemlock-drinker  of  Athens, 
and  of  the  martyr-saints  of  Jerusalem.  I  thank  tlieni 
for  it ! " 

The  year  after  the  Garrison  mobbing  scene,  I'liillips 
b;'gan  to  take  part  in  the  lyceum  lectnres,  whicli  at  tliat 
time  were  popidar,  as  the  University  Extension  lectures 
are  now.  He  spoke  usually  upon  some  topic  in  natural 
science,  being  more  fond  of  this  evidently  than  of  the  law. 


182  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

The  colored  people  were  refused  admittance  to  lec- 
tures ;  and  this  fact  so  incensed  Emerson,  Sumner,  George 
William  Curtis,  and  Phillips,  that  they  refused  to  speak 
where  tlie  negroes  were  not  admitted.  This  refusal  soou^ 
broke  the  exclusive  and  unnatural  custom. 

In  this  year,  1836,  Phillips  met  a  young  lady  two  years 
younger  than  himself,  Ann  Terry  Greene,  the  daughter 
of  a  wealtliy  Boston  merchant.  Her  cousin,  Miss  Grew, 
was  to  go  by  stage-coach  with  her  intended  liusband  to 
Greenfield,  Mass.,  and  Miss  Greene  was  to  accompany 
them.  Phillips  was  asked  to  join  tlie  party.  The  bril- 
liant young  woman,  as  she  herself  said,  "  talked  abolition 
to  him  all  the  way  up."  Mr.  Phillips  was  never  a  great 
talker,  but  a  good  listener.  He  said,  "  I  learn  something 
from  every  one." 

Both  parents  were  dead ;  and  she  had  been  received  as 
a  daughter  into  the  home  of  her  uncle  and  aunt,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Henry  G.  Clmpman,  who  lived  in  Chauncy  I'lace, 
near  Summer  Street.  Both  were  warm  friends  of  Garri- 
son, and  deeply  interested  in  the  anti-slavery  movement. 
The  young  girl,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youtli,  and 
the  impulse  of  a  strong  and  noble  nature,  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  slave,  and  was  not  afraid  to  stand  for  the 
right  in  a  choice  so  unpopular  among  the  rich  and  aristo- 
cratic. 

The  acquaintance  begun  on  the  stage-coach  result(^d  in 
an  engagement  tlie  Same  year ;  and  the  following  year, 
Oct.  12,  1837,  tliey  were  married.  Like  Mrs.  lirowning, 
Miss  Greene  was  an  invalid  at  the  time  of  her  marriage, 
and  remained  thus  all  her  life. 

"  Of  Mr.  Phillips's  unbounded  admiration  and  love  for 
his  wife,"  writes  Francis  Jackson  Garrison  in  liis  memo- 
rial sketch  of  "  Ann  Phillips,"  "  of  his  chivalrous  devo- 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  183 

tion  to  her,  and  absolute  self-abnegation  through  the 
more  than  forty-six  years  of  their  married  life,  and  of 
his  oft-confessed  indebtedness  to  her  for  her  wise  counsel 
and  inspiration,  matchless  courage,  and  unswerving  con- 
stancy, the  world  knows  in  a  general  way  ;  but  only  those 
who  have  been  intimately  acquainted  with  them  both 
can  fully  realize  and  appreciate  it  all.  They  also  know 
liow  ardent  was  her  affection  for  him,  and  how  great  her 
l»ride  in  his  labors  and  achievements." 

When  his  speeches  were  first  published  in  book  form, 

in  18G3,  he  wrote  on  the  title-page  of  one  volume,  and 

gave  it  to  liis  wife,  "  Speeches  and  Lectures.     By  Ann 

Phillips."     Thus  thoroughly  did  he  appreciate  her  help- 

,  fulness. 

Mrs.  Phillips  wrote  to  a  friend  regarding  her  husband, 
whom  she  called  her  "  better  three-quarters,'^  "  Wlien  I 
first  nu»t  Wendell,  I  used  to  think,  *  It  can  never  come  to 
pass  ;  such  a  being  as  he  is  could  never  think  of  me.'  I 
looked  upon  it  as  something  as  strange  as  a  fairy-tale." 

A  month  after  lier  marriage,  she  wrote  a  friend,  Nov. 
19,  1837  :  "  Only  last  year,  on  my  sick-bed,  I  thought  I 
should  never  see  another  birthday,  and  I  must  go  and 
leave  liim  in  the  infancy  of  our  love,  in  the  dawn  of  my 
new  life  ;  and  liow  does  to-day  Hnd  me  ?  the  blessed  and 
lia])])y  wife  of  one  T  thought  1  shouhl  never  [)erliaps  liv(? 
to  se(>.  Tlianks  be  to  (xod  for  all  liis  goodness  to  us,  and 
may  he  make  me  more  worthy  of  luy  Wendell!  I  cainiot 
help  thinking  how  little  I  have  accjuired,  and  Wendell, 
only  two  years  older,  seems  to  know  a  world  more." 

And  yet,  with  all  this  depreciation  of  self,  she  had 
such  a  fine  mind  and  sound  judgment  that  Phillips  de- 
ferred to  her  constantly,  talked  over  with  her  the  argu- 
ments of  his  speeches,  and  valued  her  approval   more 


184  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

than  that  of  all  the  world  beside.  As  in  the  case  of  John 
Stuart  Mill  and  his  wife,  intellectual  companionship 
seemed  the  basis  of  their  extremely  happy  married  life. 

Four  years  later  they  moved  into  a  modest  brick  house, 
20  Essex  Street,  given  to  Mrs.  Phillips  by  her  father, 
where  they  lived  for  forty  years.  From  here  Mrs.  Phillips 
Avrites  to  a  friend  concerning  herself :  "  Now  what  do  you 
tliiuk  her  life  is  ?  Why,  she  strolls  out  a  few  steps  oc- 
casionally, calling  it  a  walk;  the  rest  of  the  time  from 
bed  to  sofa,  from  sofa  to  rocking-chair ;  reads  generally 
the  Standard  and  Liberator,  and  that  is  pretty  much  all 
the  literature  her  aching  head  will  allow  her  to  peruse ; 
rarely  writes  a  letter,  sees  no  company,  makes  no  calls, 
looks  forward  to  spring  and  birds,  when  slie  will  be  a 
little  freer.  ...  I  am  not  well  enough  even  to  have 
friends  to  tea,  so  that  all  I  strive  to  do  is  to  keep  the 
house  neat  and  keep  myself  about.  I  have  attended  no 
meetings  since  I  helped  fill  *  the  negro  pew.'  AVhat  anti- 
slavery  news  I  get,  I  get  second-hand.  I  sliould  not  get 
along  at  all,  so  great  is  my  darkness,  were  it  m)t  for 
Wendell  to  tell  me  that  the  world  is  still  going.  .  .  .  We 
are  very  happy,  and  only  have  to  regret  my  health  being 
so  poor,  and  our  own  sinfulness.  Dear  Wendell  si)eaks 
whenever  he  can  leave  me,  and  for  his  sake  T  sometimes 
wish  I  were  myself  again ;  but  I  dare  say  it  is  all  right 
as  it  is." 

In  184(3  Mrs.  IMiillips  writes:  "  Dear  Wendell  has  met 
with  a  sad  attiiction  this  fall  in  the  death  of  his  mother. 
.  .  .  She  was  everything  to  him  —  indeed,  to  all  her 
children ;  a  devoted  mother  and  uncommon  woman.  .  .  . 
So  poor  unworthy  I  am  more  of  a  treasure  to  Wendell 
than  ever,  and  a  pretty  frail  one.  For  his  sake  I  should 
love  to  live ;  for  my  own  part  I  am  tired,  not  of  life,  but 


WENDELL   PHILLIP 8.  185 

of  a  sick  one,  I  meet  with  but  little  sympathy  ;  for  these 
long  cases  are  looked  upon  as  half,  if  not  wholly,  moke- 
helieves,  —  as  li  playing  well  wovlA  not  be  far  better  than 
playing  sick." 

On  the  same  sheet  of  paper  Mr.  Phillips  writes : 
"  Dear  Ann  has  spoken  of  my  dear  mother's  death.  My 
good,  noble,  dear  mother!  We  differed  utterly  on  the 
matter  of  slavery,  and  she  grieved  a  good  deal  over  what 
she  thought  a  waste  of  my  time,  and  a  sad  disappoint- 
ment to  her;  but  still  I  am  always  best  satisfied  with 
myself  wlien  I  fancy  I  can  see  anytliing  in  me  which 
reminds  me  of  my  mother.  She  lived  in  her  children, 
and  they  ahnost  lived  in  her,  and  the  world  is  a  different 
one,  now  she  is  gone !  " 

Nearly  a  dozen  years  later  Mr.  Pldllips  Avrites  to  a 
friend  :  "  We  are  this  summer  at  Milton,  one  of  the  most 
deliglitful  of  our  country  towns,  about  ten  miles  from 
Boston.  Ann's  brother  has  a  })lace  here,  and  we  are  witli 
him.  She  is  as  usual  —  little  sleep,  very  weak,  never 
goes  down-stairs,  in  most  excellent  and  cheerful  spirits, 
interested  keenly  in  all  good  things,  and,  I  sometimes 
tell  her,  so  much  my  motive  and  pr(jmpter  to  every  good 
thing,  that  I  fear,  should  I  lose  her,  there'd  be  nothing  of 
nu;  left  worth  your  loving." 

After  they  had  been  married  thirteen  years,  having  no 
children  of  their  own,  Mr.  and  ^Mrs.  I'hillips  took  into 
their  home,  as  a  daughter,  Phcebe  (iarnaut,  twelve  years 
old,  the  daughter  of  the  lovely  Eliza  Garnaut,  who  had 
died  of  cholera  the  year  before,  througli  her  unselfisli 
devotion  to  others.  This  cliild  remained  to  brigliten  the 
Phillips'  home  for  ten  years,  when  she  married  Mr. 
George  Washburn  Smalley,  the  London  correspondent  of 
the  New  York  Trlhrne,  and  made  her  home  abroad. 


186  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

Dr.  Buckingham  says  truly  tliat  Wendell  Phillips  "was 
a  lover  all  liis  life,  —  not  with  the  instinctive  love  of 
youtli  alone,  but  with  the  secured  attachment,  the  quiet 
confidence  of  the  heart,  the  beautiful  affectionateness, 
which,  in  tlie  later  years  of  the  pure  and  good,  is  a  far 
superior  development  of  character,  and  a  far  richer  en- 
joyment, than  the  effervescence  of  youthful  days.  She 
was,  as  he  wrote  me  once,  his  counsel,  his  guide,  his 
inspiration." 

As  long  as  Mr.  Phillips  lived,  whenever  he  was  at 
home,  he  visited  the  markets  daily,  searching  for  things 
which  should  tempt  the  aj^petite  of  "Ann."'  Lovely 
flowers  Avere  in  lier  windows  from  one  year's  end  to  the 
other,  placed  there  by  his  thoughtfulness  or  that  of  other 
dear  friends.  Pond  of  music,  he  daily  left  her  money 
for  the  hand-organs  played  beneath  her  window.  Her 
love,  her  cheer,  her  enthusiastic  devotion  to  the  great 
causes  which  he  pleaded  witli  inimitable  grace  and 
power,  more  than  paid  him  for  all  his  care  and  self- 
sacrifice. 

Two  months  after  their  marriage  came  the  event 
which  made  liim,  like  Pyron,  "  awake  to  find  himself 
famous." 

On  Nov.  7,  1837,  the  Kev.  Elijah  P.  Lovejoy  was  mur- 
dered by  a  pro-slavery  mob  in  Alton,  111.  He  was  a  I'res- 
byterian  clergyman  from  Maine,  a  graduate  of  Waterville 
College.  Going  "West,  he  became  the  editor  of  tlie  St. 
Louis  Ohsei'ver,  a  weekly  religious  i)aper  of  his  own 
denomination. 

A  negro  having  been  chained  to  a  tree  and  burned  to 
death  for  killing  an  officer  who  attempted  to  arrest  him, 
the  judge  decided  in  favor  of  the  mob.  Rev.  Mr.  Love- 
joy  protested  against  such  barbarity,  and  his  printing- 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  187 

office  was  at  once  destroyed  by  the  lawless.  He  moved 
his  paper  to  Alton,  111.,  but  the  slavery  sympathizers 
destroyed  his  press.  Some  citizens  reimbursed  him  for 
the  loss.  Another  press  was  purchased  and  destroyed, 
and  then  another.  The  fourth  press,  the  mayor  and  law- 
abiding  citizens  determined  should  be  defended. 

In  the  evening  a  mob  gathered  from  the  saloons,  — 
theii*  usual  place  of  starting,  —  and  threatened  to  burn 
the  building  where  it  was  stored.  The  officials  seemed 
powerless,  the  building  was  fired,  and  the  Ilev.  Mr. 
Lovejoy  received  three  balls  in  his  breast. 

The  deatli  of  this  young  minister  in  a  free  State  sent  a 
thrill  of  indignation  throughout  the  North.  Dr.  ^^'illiam 
Ellery  Clianning  and  one  hundred  others  called  a  meet- 
ing at  Faneuil  Hall,  Boston,  for  the  morning  of  Dec.  8. 

Tlie  Hon.  Jonathan  I'hillips,  a  relative  of  "Wendell 
Phillips,  presided  over  the  crowded  asseml)lage.  Dr. 
Channing  spoke  eloquently.  Soon  in  the  gallery,  James 
T.  Austin,  the  Attorney-general  of  Massachusetts,  a  prom- 
inent lawyer,  and  member  of  Dr.  Channing's  congrega- 
tion, arose  and  declared  that  Lovejoy  "died  as  the  fool 
dieth,"  and  compared  his  murderers  to  the  men  who 
destroyed  tlie  tea  in  Boston  harbor.  The  audience  was 
intensely  excited. 

Young  Phillips,  twenty-six  years  old  and  C(mipara- 
tively  lujknown,  standing  among  the  people,  —  tliere  are 
no  seats  in  tlie  hall,  —  said  to  liis  neighbor,  "  Sucli  a 
speech  in  Faneuil-  Hall  must  be  answered  in  Faneuil 
Hall." 

*'  Why  not  answer  it  yourself  ?  "  whispered  the  man. 

"  Help  me  to  the  platform  and  I  will,"  was  the  reply ; 
and  pushing  his  Avay  through  the  turbulent  crowd  he 
reached  the  rostrum. 


188  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

He  began  with  all  the  grace  and  self-control  which 
characterized  him  in  after  years.  There  were  mingled 
cries  of,  *'  Question,"  ^'  Hear  him,"  *'  Go  on,"  "  No  gag- 
ging," and  the  like. 

"Kiding  the  whirlwind  undismayed,"  says  George 
William  Curtis,  in  liis  eulogy,  "  he  stood  u])on  the  plat- 
form in  all  the  beauty  and  grace  of  imperial  youth  — 
the  Greeks  would  have  said  a  god  descended  —  and  in 
words  that  touched  the  mind  and  heart  and  conscience 
of  that  vast  multitude,  as  with  ftre  from  heaven,  recall- 
ing Boston  to  herself,  he  saved  his  native  city  and  her 
cradle  of  liberty  from  the  damning  disgrace  of  stoning 
tlie  first  martyr  in  the  great  struggle  for  personal  free- 
dom." 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "when  I  heard  the  gentle- 
man lay  down  princij)les  Avhich  i)laee  the  murderers  of 
Alton  side  by  side  with  Otis  and  Hancock,  with  Quincy 
and  Adams,  I  thought  those  pictured  lips  (pointing  to 
the  portraits  on  the  wall),  would  have  bioken  into  voice 
to  rebuke  the  recreant  American  —  the  slanderer  of  the 
dead.  .  .  .  Sir,  for  the  sentiments  he  has  uttered,  on 
soil  consecrated  by  the  prayers  of  Puritans  and  the 
blood  of  ])atriots,  the  earth  should  have  yawned  and 
swallowed  him  up." 

This  was  received  with  applaus(;  and  hisses,  with  cries 
of,  "Make  him  take  buck  'recreant.'  He  sha'n't  go  on 
till  he  takes  it  back." 

As  soon  as  he  could  ])r()cced  \w  said,  "Fellow-citizens, 
I  cannot  take  back  my  words.  Surely  tli(>  Attorney- 
General,  so  long  and  well-known  here,  needs  not  the  aid 
of  your  hisses  against  one  so  young  as  I  am,  —  my  voice 
never  before  heard  within  these  walls  ! " 

"In  the   annals   of   American   speech,"  says   Curtis, 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  189 

"  there  liad  been  no  such  scene  since  Patrick  Henry's 
electrical  warning  to  George  the  Third.  .  .  .  Three  such 
scenes  are  illustrious  in  our  history.  That  of  the  speech 
of  Patrick  Henry  at  Williamsburg,  of  Wendell  Phillips 
in  Faneuil  Hall,  and  of  Abraham  Lincoln  in  Gettysburg 
—  three,  and  there  is  no  fourth." 

From  this  time  AVendell  Phillii)s  was  famous  ;  but,  save 
for  the  approbatit)!!  of  his  young  wife,  he  stood  nearly 
alone.  He  had  already  spoken  once  before  an  Anti- 
Slavery  Convention  at  Lynn,  Mass.  He  was  now  a  de- 
spised abolitionist.  His  family  were  disappointed,  his 
college  was  surprised,  his  law  constituency  well-nigh 
disappeared.     He  was  socially  ostracized. 

James  Russell  Lowell,  who  also  knew  what  it  cost  to 
be  on  the  unpopular  side,  spoke  thus  nobly  of  Phillips : 

"  He  stood  upon  the  world's  broad  threshold;  wide 

The  din  of  battle  and  of  slaughter  rose; 
He  saw  God  stand  upon  the  weaker  side, 

That  sank  in  seeming  loss  before  its  foes; 
Many  there  were,  wlio  made  great  haste  and  sold 

Unto  the  cunning  enemy  their  swords; 
He  scorned  their  gifts  of  fame  and  power  and  gold, 

And,  underneath  their  soft  and  flowery  words, 
Heard  the  cold  serpent  hiss ;  therefore  he  went 

And  humbly  joined  him  to  the  weaker  part,- 
Fanatic  named,  and  fool,  yet  well  content 

So  he  could  be  the  nearer  to  God's  heart. 
And  feel  its  solemn  pulses  sending  blood 
Through  all  the  wide-spread  veins  of  endless  good." 

Mr.  Phillips  turned  his  time  and  thought  more  than 
ever  to  the  lecture  platform,  because  in  this  way  he  could 
mould  public  opinion.  He  began  to  deliver  ''  The  Lost 
Arts,"  in  1838,  which  gives  a  glimpse  of  early  civiliza- 


190  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

tiou  in  glass-making,  in  gems,  colors,  metals,  canals,  etc., 
and  gave  it  over  two  thousand  times  during  the  next 
forty-five  years,  receiving  for  it,  Dr.  Martyn  says,  which 
statement  he  heard  from  Phillips's  own  lips,  a  net  result 
of  $150,000. 

When  asked  to  lecture  he  would  state  his  price  if  he 
were,  to  speak  on  science  or  hiograjihy,  of  whicli  he  was 
especially  fond,  l)ut  would  make  no  cliarges  and  pay 
his  own  expenses  if  he  might  si)eak  on  slaVery  or  tem- 
perance. If  he  spoke  once  lie  wius  sure  to  be  sought 
again,  and  sooner  or  later  the  people  heard  concerning 
the  subjects  to  which  he  had  dedicated  his  life. 

Having  been  made  the  general  agent  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Anti-Slavery  Society,  Phillips  organized  a  strong 
lecture  force,  and  made  every  schoolhouse  and  church 
where  he  was  allowed  to  enter  tlie  centre  for  discus- 
sions. Mrs.  Phillips's  healtli  seeming  to  fail  more  and 
more,  it  was  deemed  wise  to  cross  the  ocean  for  her 
sake.  They  accordingly  sailed  from  New  York  for 
London,  June  6,  1839,  arriving  in  Jul;^.  They  visited 
France,  Italy,  and  Germany,  and  remained  abroad  two 
years,  without,  however,  any  improvement  for  the  invalid 
wife. 

On  June  12,  1840,  a  World's  Anti-Slavery  Conv(Miti(m 
began  its  sessions  in  Loudon.  A  call  had  been  issued, 
addressed  to  the  "  Frieuds  of  the  slave  of  every  nation 
and  of  every  clime."  American  societies  sent  delegates, 
Wendell  I*hillips  and  his  wife,  already  abroad,  Lucretia 
Mott,  the  distinguished  Quaker,  Garrison,  and  many  others. 

When  they  reached  England,  the  women  were  refused 
as  delegates.  They  asked  Wendell  Phillips  to  plead 
their  cause.  When  he  left  the  lumse  in  London  to  do 
so,  his  wife  said  to  him,  "  Wendell,  don't  shilly-shally." 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  191 

He  spoke  with  his  usual  politeness  and  power  :  "  It  is 
the  custom  there  [America]  not  to  admit  colored  men 
into  respectable  society;  and  we  have  been  told  again 
and  again  that  we  are  outraging  the  decencies  of  human- 
ity when  we  permit  coloi'ed  men  to  sit  by  our  side. 
When  we  have  submitted  to  brickbats  and  the  tar-tub 
and  feathers  in  America,  rather  than  yield  to  tlie  custom 
prevalent  there  of  not  admitting  colored  brethren  into 
our  friendship,  shall  we  yield  to  })arallel  custom  or 
prejudice  against  women  in  Old  England  ? 

"  We  cannot  yield  this  question  if  we  would,  for  it  is  a 
matter  of  conscience,  .  .  .  and  IJritish  virtue  ought  not 
to  ask  us  to  yield." 

Tiie  women  were  not  admitted,  however,  and  were 
obliged  to  sit  in  the  gallery  as  spectators.  None  the 
less  the  women  of  both  nations  owe  Phillips  hearty 
thanks  for  his  appreciation  and  his  justice.  Father  Ma- 
thew,  the  great  temi)erance  leader  of  Ireland,  deeply 
regretted  the  exclusion  of  the  women  delegates. 

After  the  convention,  Phillips  and  his  wife  went,  by 
way  of  Belgium  and  the  Rhine,  to  Kissingen,  in  Bavaria. 
He  writes  to  a  friend  in  England :  "  To  Americans  it  was 
especially  pleasant  to  see  at  Frankfort  the  oldest  printed 
Bible  in  tlie  world,  and  two  pairs  of  Luther's  shoes, 
which  Ann  would  not  quit  sight  of  till  I  had  mustered 
German  enough  to  ask  the  man  to  let  the  ^little  girl' 
feel  of  them." 

Again  he  writes  :  "  We  started  for  Florence,  by  l^o- 
logna,  that  jewel  of  a  city  ;  .  .  .  for  she  admits  women 
to  be  professors  in  luu-  university,  htn*  gallery  guards 
their  paintings,  her  palaces  boast  their  sculptures.  I 
gloried  in  standing  beside  a  woman-professor's  monu- 
ment, set  up  side  by  side  with  that  of  the  illustrious 
Galvani." 


192  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

To  Garrison  he  writes  from  Naples,  having  tlien  the 
same  sympathy  for  the  poor  and  the  laborer  which  he 
showed  through  life  :  "  When  you  meet  in  the  same 
street  a  man  encompassed  with  all  the  equipage  of  wealth, 
and  the  beggar,  on  whose  brow  disease  and  starvation 
have  written  his  title  to  your  pity,  the  question  is,  invol- 
untarily, Is  this  a  Christian  city?  To  my  mind  the 
answer  is.  No.  ... 

"  I  hope  the  discussion  of  the  question  of  property 
will  not  cease  until  the  Church  is  convinced  that,  from 
Christian  lips  ownership  means  responsibility  for  the  right 
use  of  wliat  God  has  given;  that  the  title  of  a  needy 
brother  is  as  sacred  as  the  owner's  own,  and  infringed 
upon,  too,  whenever  that  owner  allows  the  siren  voice  of 
his  own  tastes  to  drown  the  cry  of  another's  necessities. 
.  .  .  None  know  what  it  is  to  live  till  they  redeem  life 
from  monotony  by  sacrifice." 

After  the  return  of  the  Phillipses,  the  anti-slavery 
work  was  taken  up  more  vigorously  than  ever.  Colored 
children  were  not  allowed  to  study  in  the  schools  with 
white  in  Boston.  I'hillips  agitated  till  separate  colored 
schools  were  abolished.  He  appealed  to  the  Legislature 
of  his  native  State  to  compel  railroads,  as  common  car- 
riers, to  admit  the  negro  to  the  cars,  and  finally  was 
successful. 

He  shared,  like  Henry  Ward  jieecher  and  Lucretia 
Mott,  the  discomforts  of  the  colored  man.  Frederick 
Douglass  said,  in  his  oration  on  Phillips,  given  before  his 
own  race,  in  AVashington,  1884 :  '*  On  one  occasion,  after 
delivering  a  lecture  to  the  New  Bedford  Lyceum,  before 
a  highly  cultivated  audience,  when  brought  to  the  rail- 
road station  (as  I  was  not  allowed  to  travel  in  a  first-class 
car,  but  was  compelled  to  ride  in  a  filthy  box  called  the 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  193 

'  Jim  Crow '  car),  lie  stepped  to  my  side,  in  the  presence 
of  liis  aristocratic  friends,  and  wallved  with  me  straight 
into  this  miserable  dog-car,  saying,  '  Douglass,  if  you 
cannot  ride  with  me,  I  can  ride  with  you.' 

"  On  the  Sound,  between  New  York  and  Newport,  in 
those  dark  days,  a  colored  passenger  was  not  allowed 
abaft  the  wheels  of  the  steamer,  and  had  to  spend  the 
night  on  the  forward  deck,  with  horses,  sheep,  and  swine. 
On  such  trips,  when  I  was  a  passenger,  Wendell  Phillips 
preferred  to  walk  the  naked  deck  with  me  to  taking  a 
state-room.  I  could  not  persuade  him  to  leave  me  to 
bear  the  burden  of  insult  and  outrage  alone." 

In  1850  the  "  irrepressible  conflict "  between  freedom 
and  slavery  was  reaching  its  climax.  The  Fugitive-Slave 
Law,  fathered  by  Henry  Clay,  and,  to  the  dismay  of  a 
large  portion  of  the  North,  upheld  by  Daniel  Webster  in 
his  7th  of  March  speech,  had  been  signed  by  the  Presi- 
dent, Millard  Fillmore,  Sept.  18,  1850.  This  bill  made 
slave-hunting  and  the  return  of  slaves  to  their  masters 
a  duty. 

A  great  company,  presided  over  by  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  and  addressed  by  Phillips  and  others,  in  Faneuil 
Hall,  protested;  but  the  North  was  powerless  or  suppli- 
ant. Mobs  broke  up  anti-slavery  meetings  in  New  York 
City.  Colored  men,  on  one  jjretext  or  another,  were 
seized  and  carried  back  to  slavery. 

On  April  3,  1851,  Thomas  Sims,  a  slave,  was  arrested 
in  Boston,  and,  after  a  hurried  examination  before  the 
United  States  Commissioner,  was  given  up  to  his  pursu- 
ers. The  poor  slave  youth  begged  this  favor :  "  Give  me 
a  knife,"  he  said,  "  and  when  the  commissioner  declares 
me  a  slave,  I  will  stab  myself  to  the  heart,  and  die  before 
his  eyes." 


194  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

At  midniglit  the  Mayor  of  Boston,  with  two  or  three 
hundred  policemen,  heavily  armed,  placed  Sims  on  board 
the  ship  Acorn,  and  sent  him  back  into  bondage. 

Great  meetings  were  held  on  lioston  Common  and  in 
Tremont  Temple  to  protest  against  this  action,  but  they 
were  ol"  no  avail.  A  year  later,  on  the  anniversary  of 
the  rendition  of  Sims,  Phillips  gave  a  thrilling  address 
at  the  Melodoon.  Looking  towards  the  futnre,  he  said, 
"  I  know  wliat  civil  war  is.  .  .  .  And  yet  I  do  not  know 
that,  to  an  enlightened  mind,  a  scene  of  civil  war  is  any 
more  sickening  than  the  thought  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  of  slavery.  Take  the  broken  hearts,  the  bereaved 
mothers,  the  infant  wrung  from  the  hands  of  its  parents, 
the  husband  and  wife  torn  asunder,  every  right  trodden 
under  foot,  the  bliglitod  hopes,  the  imbruted  souls,  the 
daikened  and  degraded  millions,  sunk  below  the  level  of 
intellectual  life,  melted  in  sensuality,  herded  with  beasts, 
who  have  Avalked  over  the  burning  marl  of  Southern  sla- 
very to  their  graves,  and  where  is  the  battle-field,  how- 
ever ghastly,  that  is  not  white  —  white  as  an  angel's 
wing  —  compared  with  the  blackness  of  that  darkness 
which  lias  brooded  over  the  Carolinas  for  two  hundred 
years  ?  " 

Meantime,  Avhat  had  become  of  Sims  ?  On  arriving  at 
Savamiah  he  was  severely  whipped,  and  confined  in  a  cell 
for  two  months.  He  was  then  sent  to  a  slave-market  at 
Ciiarleston,  and  thence  to  another  market  at  New  Or- 
leans, Finally  he  was  purchased  by  a  brick-mason,  taken 
to  Vicksburg,  and  in  1SG3  he  escaped  to  the  besieging 
army  of  Grant,  and  was  given  transportation  to  the 
North. 

Three  years  later,  ^fay  14,  1854,  Anthony  Burns,  a 
slave,  was   arrested,  and  on  June  2,  marched   through 


Wendell  Phillips.  195 

Court  Street  and  State  Street,  over  the  ground  wliere 
Crispus  Attucks,  a  colored  man,  fell  as  the  first  victim  in 
the  Boston  Massacre  in  the  Revolution,  to  the  wharf,  in 
the  centre  of  a  concourse  of  people,  guarded  by  com- 
panies of  militia  and  protected  by  cannon.  The  streets 
were  draped  in  black  by  the  indignant  citizens,  and  the 
bells  tolled  a  dirge,  as  the  bound  slave  was  thrust  into 
the  hold  of  a  vessel  ready  to  start  for  Virginia.  Burns 
was  the  last  black  man  carried  back  to  his  masters  from 
Massachusetts. 

Meantime,  Wendell  Phillips  had  been  fighting  other 
battles.  In  October,  1850,  the  first  National  Woman 
Suffrage  Convention  was  held  at  Worcester,  Mass.  Nine 
States  responded.  Phillips  spoke  earnestly,  but  no  full 
report  of  his  address  or  of  others  was  taken. 

The  next  year,  1851,  at  Worcester,  he  made  a  brilliant 
speech  at  the  second  National  Woman  Suffrage  Conven- 
tion. Of  that  speech,  given  in  full  in  Mr.  Phillips's 
"  Speeches  and  Lectures  "  published  in  1863,  Mr.  Curtis 
says,  in  his  eulogy  of  Phillips :  "  In  his  general  state- 
ment of  principle  nothing  has  been  added  to  that  dis- 
course; in  vivid  and  effective  eloquence  of  advocacy  it 
has  never  been  surpassed." 

"  What  Ave  ask  is  simply  this,"  said  Pliillips,  "  what 
all  other  classes  liave  asked  before  :  Leave  it  to  woman 
to  clioose  for  herself  her  profession,  her  education,  and 
her  sphere.  We  deny  to  any  portion  of  the  species  the 
right  to  prescribe  to  any  other  portion  its  sphere,  its 
education,  or  its  rights.  .  .  .  The  S])here  of  each  man, 
of  each  woman,  of  each  individual,  is  that  sphere  which 
he  can,  with  tlie  highest  exercise  of  his  powers,  perfectly 
fill.  The  highest  act  which  the  human  being  can  do, 
that  is  the  act  which  God  designed  liim  to  do.  .  .  .  The 
tools,  now,  to  Irim  or  her  who  can  use  them.  .  ,  . 


196  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

"  While  woman  is  admitted  to  the  gallows,  the  jail, 
and  the  tax-list,  we  have  no  right  to  debar  her  from  the 
ballot-box." 

He  had  no  fears  that  woman's  natural  grace  or  tender- 
ness would  be  marred  by  depositing  her  vote  in  the  ballot- 
box.  "  Let  education,"  he  said,  "  form  the  rational  and 
moral  being,  and  nature  will  take  care  of  the  woman." 

On  another  occasion  Mr.  Phillips  gave  this  illustra- 
tion :  "  Goethe  said,  that,  '  if  yoii  jdant  an  oak  in  a 
flower-pot,  one  of  two  things  was  sure  to  hapi)en,  — 
either  the  oak  will  be  dwarfed,  or  the  flower-pot  will 
])reak.'  So  we  have  planted  woman  in  a  flower-pot, 
hemmed  her  in  by  restrictions ;  and,  when  we  move  to 
enlarge  her  sphere,  society  cries  out, '  Oh,  you'll  break 
the  flower-pot ! '  Well,  I  say,  let  it  break.  Man  made 
it,  and  the  sooner  it  goes  to  pieces  the  better.  Let  us 
see  how  broadly  the  branches  will  throw  themselves, 
and  how  beautiful  will  be  the  shajie,  and  how  glorious 
against  the  moonlit  sky  or  glowing  sunset  the  foliage 
shall  appear ! " 

He  thought  the  idea  that  woman  would  have  no  time 
for  political  matters  an  absurdity,  when  the  soldier,  the 
busy  manufacturer,  the  lawyer,  the  president  of  a  col- 
lege, and  the  artisan  have  time  to  vote. 

"  Responsibility,"  he  said,  "  is  one  instrument  —  a 
great  instrument  —  of  education,  both  moral  and  intel- 
lectual. It  sharpens  the  faculties.  It  unfolds  the  moral 
nature.  It  makes  the  careless  prudent,  and  turns  reck- 
lessness into  sobriety.  .  .  .  Woman  can  never  study 
those  great  questions  that  interest  and  stir  most  deeply 
the  human  mind,  until  she  studies  them  under  the  min- 
gled stimulus  and  check  of  this  responsibility.  ,  .  .  The 
great  school  of  this  people  is  the  jury-box  and  the  bal- 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  197 

lot-box.  .  .  .  Great  political  questions  stir  the  deepest 
nature  of  one-half  the  nation  ;  but  they  pass  far  above 
and  over  the  lieads  of  the  other  half.  Yet,  meanwhile, 
theorists  wonder  that  tlie  first  have  their  whole  nature 
unfolded,  and  the  others  will  persevere  in  being  dwarfed." 

In  1861,  in  Cooper  Institute,  New  York,  Mr.  Phillips 
said  :  "  Let  public  opinion  only  grant  that,  like  their 
thousand  brothers,  those  Avomen  may  go  out,  and,  Avher- 
ever  they  find  work  to  do,  do  it  without  a  stigma  being 
set  upon  them.  Let  the  educated  girl  of  twenty  liave 
the  same  liberty  to  use  the  pen,  to  practise  law,  to  write 
books,  to  serve  in  a  library,  to  tend  in  a  gallery  of  art, 
to  do  anything  that  her  brother  can  do."  And  lie  asked 
for  Avoman  equal  wages  with  man  for  the  same  work. 

The  anti-slavery  war  was  still  waging.  The  Kansas 
and  Nebraska  Act,  by  which  the  people  were  left  to  fight 
out  the  battle  of  slavery  or  freedom  on  their  own  soil, 
resulted,  as  might  have  been  expected,  in  bloodshed. 
Among  those  who  went  to  Kansas,  determined  to  help 
make  it  a  free  State,  was  John  Brown,  whose  pathetic 
life  has  been  written  recently  by  that  eminent  anti- 
slavery  Avorker  and  author,  Frank  B.  Sanborn,  Esq.,  of 
Concord,  Mass. 

During  those  dreadful  years  of  civil  Avar  in  Kansas, 
BroAvn  and  his  family  suffered  all  manner  of  hardships. 
Some  of  his  sons  Avere  in  jirison,  and  st)me  murdered. 
He  had  always  Avished  to  free  the  slaves,  had  helped 
many  to  escape,  and  in  1859  carried  out  a  plan,  long  in 
his  mind,  to  establish  a  station  in  Virginia,  near  enough 
to  a  free  State,  Avhere  fugitive  slaves  could  defend  them- 
selves for  a  time,  till  they  could  be  helped  into  Canada. 

On  Sunday  evening,  Oct.  10,  1859,  BroAvn,  Avitli  eigh- 
teen men,  arrived  at  Harper's  Ferry,  broke  down  the 


198  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

armory-gate,  and  took  possession  of  the  village,  without 
firing  a  gun.  The  citizens  soon  armed,  several  men 
were  killed,  and,  before  the  next  night,  Brown  and  his 
coni})any,  now  reduced  to  six,  were  barricaded  in  the 
engine-house.  Colonel  Robert  E.  Lee,  afterwards  the  Con- 
federate general,  arrived  with  some  United  States  marines 
from  Washington,  and  Brown  was  ordered  to  surrender, 
which  he  refused  to  do.  When  he  was  finally  captured, 
his  two  sons  were  dead,  and  he  was  thought  to  be  dying 
from  his  wounds. 

He  met  his  death  bravely  on  the  scaffold  at  Charles- 
town,  Va.,  Dec.  2,  1859. 

He  wrote  a  friend,  a  short  time  before  his  death,  *'  I 
think  I  cannot  better  serve  the  cause  I  love  so  much 
than  to  die  for  it ;  and  in  my  death  I  may  do  more  than 
in  my  life." 

The  day  he  died,  he  wf-ote  on  a  piece  of  paper  and 
handed  it  to  one  of  the  guards,  "  I,  John  Brown,  am  now 
quite  certain  that  the  crimes  of  this  guiltij  land  will 
never  be  purged  away  but  with  blood.  I  had,  as  I  now 
think  vainly,  flattered  myself  that  Avithout  very  much 
bloodshed  it  might  be  done." 

As  he  rode  on  the  wagon  to  the  scaffold,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  looking  out  over  the  two  thousand  Virginian  sol- 
diers, the  distant  hills,  and  the  IHue  Ridge  Mountains, 
he  said,  "  This  is  a  beautiful  country ;  I  have  not  cast 
my  eyes  over  it  before  —  that  is,  in  this  direction."  He 
tlianked  liis  jailer  for  his  kindness,  and  said,  *'  I  am 
ready  at  any  time  —  do  not  keep  me  waiting ;  "  and  died 
without  a  tremor. 

Victor  Hugo  said,  "  His  hangman  is  the  whole  Ameri- 
can Republic.  .  .  .  What  the  South  slew  last  December 
was  not  John  Brown,  but  slavery." 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  199 

Brown's  body  was  delivered  to  his  wife,  and  she  bore 
it  to  New  York.  Wendell  Phillips  met  the  funeral  com- 
pany at  that  city,  and  they  carried  the  body  to  North 
Elba,  in  the  Adirondack  Mountains.  He  was  buried 
Dec.  8,  1859,  Mr.  Phillips  speaking  eloquently  and 
touchingly  at  the  grave.  "  He  has  abolished  slavery  in 
Virginia,"  said  Phillips.  .  .  .  "History  will  date  Vir- 
ginia emancipation  from  Harper's  Ferry.  True,  the 
slave  is  still  there.  So,  when  the  tempest  uproots  a 
pine  on  yon  hill,  it  looks  green  for  months  —  a  year  or 
two.  Still,  it  is  timber,  not  a  tree.  John  Brown  has 
loosened  the  roots  of  the  slave  system  ;  it  only  breathes, 
—  it  does  not  live,  —  hereafter." 

How  strange  it  was  that  only  a  few  short  months 
afterward  thousands  of  Union  soldiers  were  marching 
to  battle,  singing  that  inspiring  strain,  — 

"John  Brown's  body  lies  a-mouldering  in  the  grave, 
And  his  soul  is  marching  on!" 

While  Brown  lay  in  prison  at  Charlestown,  Va.,  a 
meeting  was  held  in  Tremont  Temple,  Boston,  to  raise 
money  for  his  impoverished  family.  John  A.  Andrew, 
not  then  governor,  presided.  Emerson,  Phillips,  and  the 
Rev.  J.  M.  Manning,  Congregationalist,  of  the  "Old 
South  "  Church,  made  earnest  addresses.  The  latter  said, 
"  1  am  here  to  represent  the  church  of  Sam  Adams  and 
Wendell  Phillips  ;  and  I  want  all  the  world  to  know 
that  I  am  not  afraid  to  ride  in  the  coach  Avhen  Wendell 
Phillips  sits  on  the  box." 

In  New  York  a  meeting  for  the  same  purpose  was 
confronted  by  a  fierce  mob.  On  Staten  Island,  when 
Phillips  attempted  to  lecture,  George  William  Curtis 
presiding,  a  mob  gathered  on  the  road  and  sidewalk.     A 


200  WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 

lady  driving  up,  a  man  from  West  Brighton  rushed  to 
the  carriage-door,  followed  by  several  rough  men,  and 
exclaimed,  "  I  advise  you,  madam,  not  to  go  in ;  there  is 
going  to  be  trouble." 

"  What  trouble,  sir  ?  "  said  she  calmly. 

"Two  hundred  of  us,"  said  the  loader,  "have  sworn 
to  tear  this  man  from  the  desk  and  plant  liim  in  the 
Jersey  marshes." 

"  I  don't  think  that  will  be  allowed,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,  if  you  have  force  enough  to  prevent  it,  go 
ahead." 

"  I  do  not  say  any  such  thing,"  slie  answered  ;  "  but 
this  is  not  a  political  meeting.  I  have  come  to  hear  a 
literary  lecture,  and  I  think  tliere  will  be  decent  men 
enough  here  to  check  any  disturbance." 

The  bravery  of  the  woman  seemed  to  abash  the  crowd. 
Though  some  climbed  on  ladders  to  the  windows  of  the 
church  and  shouted,  "  Fetch  him  out ! "  they  did  not 
attempt  to  batter  doAvn  the  doors.  They  threw  stones 
and  cursed  after  the  lecture  was  over,  but  Phillips  was 
not  harmed. 

An  attempt  was  made  to  mob  him  in  Philadelphia. 
He  wrote  to  his  wife's  cousin,  Miss  Grew,  "  I  have  be- 
come so  notorious,  that  at  Albany,  Kingston,  and  Hart- 
ford the  Lyceum  could  not  obtain  a  church  for  me ;  and 
the  papers  riddled  me  with  pellets  for  a  week ;  but  that 
saved  advertising,  and  got  me  larger  houses  gratis.  At 
Troy  they  even  thought  of  imitating  Staten  Island,  and 
getting  up  a  homoeopathic  mob,  but  couldn't." 

Phillips  was  becoming  accustomed  to  mobs.  He  had, 
says  Mr.  Higginson,  "a  careless,  buoyant,  almost  patri- 
cian air,  as  if  nothing  in  the  way  of  mob-violence  were 
worth  considering."     Dec.  2,  1860,  on  the   anniversary 


WENDELL    PHILLIPS.  201 

of  John  Brown's  execution,  being  debarred  from  speak- 
ing in  Tremont  Temple,  a  crowded  meeting  was  held 
in  the  Belknap-street  colored  church.  The  mob  de- 
termined to  get  him  into  their  hands,  says  Charles  W. 
Slack,  in  George  Lowell  Austin's  life  of  Phillips,  and 
were  only  prevented  ''  by  a  cordon  of  young  men,  about 
forty  or  more  in  number,  who  with  locked  arms  and 
closely  compacted  bodies,  had  Phillips  in  the  centre  of 
their  circle,  and  were  safely  bearing  him  home." 

On  Jan.  24,  1861,  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Mass- 
achusetts Anti-slavery  Society  Avas  held  in  Tremont 
Temple.  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child  describes  the  scene : 
"  Soon  the  mob  began  to  yell  from  the  galleries.  They 
came  tumbling  in  by  hundreds.  .  .  .  Such  yelling, 
screeching,  and  bellowing  I  never  heard.  .  .  . 

''  Mr.  Phillips  stood  on  the  front  of  the  platform  for 
a  full  hour,  trying  to  be  heard  whenever  the  storm  lulled 
a  little.  They  cried,  '  Throw  him  out !  Throw  a  brick- 
bat at  him !  Your  house  is  afire ;  go  put  out  your 
house  ! '  Then  they'd  sing,  with  various  bellowing  and 
shrieking  accompaniments, '  Tell  John  Andrew,  tell  John 
Andrew,  John  Brown's  dead!'  I  should  think  there 
were  four  or  live  hundred  of  them.  At  one  time  tliey 
all  rose  up,  many  of  them  clattered  down-stairs,  and 
there  was  a  surging  forward  toward  the  i)latform.  My 
heart  beat  so  fast  I  could  hear  it;  for  I  did  not  then 
know  how  Mr.  Phillips's  armed  friends  were  stationed  at 
every  door,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle.  At  last  it 
was  announced  that  the  police  were  coming.  iMr. 
Phillips  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  was  again  drowned. 
Then  ...  he  stepped  forward  and  addressed  his  speech 
to  the  reporters  stationed  directly  below  him." 

He  said  to  the  reporters  —  the  noisy  crowd  shouted, 


202  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

"  Speak  louder !  AVe  want  to  hear  what  you're  saying ! " 
—  "While  I  speak  to  these  pencils,  I  speak  to  a  million 
of  men.  What,  then,  are  tliese  boys  ?  We  have  got 
the  press  of  the  country  in  our  hands.  .  .  .  My  voice 
is  beaten  by  theirs,  but  they  cannot  beat  types.  All 
hail  and  glory  to  Faust,  wlio  invented  printing,  for  lie 
made  mobs  impossible."  Nothing  seemed  to  fire  the  great 
orator  like  opposition.     He  was  the  very  soul  of  courage. 

The  Civil  War  had  begun.  Phillii)s,  Avho  had  been  in 
favor  of  disunion,  because  he  and  other  anti-slavery  men 
and  women  wished  no  union  with  slavery,  now  that  the 
first  shot  had  been  fired  on  April  12,  18G1,  became  a 
firm  supporter  of  the  Union. 

He  said  in  his  lecture  "  Under  the  Flag,"  delivered  in 
Music  Hall,  April  21,  1861,  and  contained  in  tlie  first 
volume  of  his  speeches  :  "  The  cannon  shot  against  Fort 
Sumter  has  opened  the  only  door  out  of  this  hour. 
There  were  but  two.  One  was  compromise ;  the  other 
was  battle.  .  .  .  The  South  opened  this  with  cannon 
shot,  and  Lincoln  shows  himself  at  the  door.  The  war, 
then,  is  not  aggressive,  but  in  self-defence,  and  Washing- 
ton has  become  tlie  Thermopylae  of  liberty  and  justice. 
Rather  than  surrender  that  capital,  cover  every  square 
foot  of  it  with  a  living  Inxly  ;  crowd  it  with  a  million  of 
men,  and  em})ty  every  bank  vault  at  the  North  to  pay 
the  cost.  Teach  the  world  once  for  all,  that  North 
America  belongs  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  under 
tiiem  no  man  shall  wear  a  chain." 

The  speecli  was  reported  for  the  Boston  Journal ;  biit 
fearing  that  the  war  Democrats  would  not  be  pleased,  it 
was  suppressed.  The  friends  of  Phillips,  learning  of 
this,  had  it  printed  as  an  extra,  and  scattered  one 
hundred  thousand  copies  of  it. 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  203 

Through  these  early  years  of  the  war  Phillips  was 
urging  the  arming  of  the  negroes  ;  and  when  some  white 
men  doubted  their  courage,  he  lectured  through  tlie  land 
upon  Toussaint  L'Ouverture,  the  great  leader  of  Hayti, 
Avliom  he  thus  pictures  :  — 

"  Of  Toussaint,  Herniona,  the  Spanish  general,  who 
knew  him  well,  said,  '  lie  was  the  purest  soul  God  ever 
put  into  a  body.'  Of  liim  history  bears  witness,  '  He 
never  broke  his  word.'  " 

When  he  was  captured  by  the  French  and  taken  to 
France,  "As  the  ishmd  faded  from  his  sight,  he  turned 
to  the  captain  and  said,  '  You  think  you  have  rooted  up 
the  tree  of  liberty,  but  I  am  only  a  branch ;  I  have 
planted  the  tree  so  deep  that  all  France  can  never  root 
it  uj).' " 

He  Avas  tlirown  into  a  stone  dungeon,  twelve  feet  by 
twenty.  "  This  dungeon  was  a  tomb.  The  story  is  told 
that,  in  Josephine's  time,  a  young  French  marquis  was 
placed  there,  and  the  girl  to  whom  he  was  betrothed 
went  to  the  Empress  and  prayed  for  his  release.  Said 
Josephine  to  her,  '  Have  a  model  of  it  made  and  bring 
it  to  me.'  Josei)hine  placed  it  near  Napoleon.  He  said, 
'  Take  it  away,  it  is  horrible ! '  She  put  it  on  liis  foot- 
stool, and  he  kicked  it  from  him.  She  hehl  it  to  him  the 
third  time,  and  said,  '  Sire,  in  this  horrible  dungeon  you 
have  put  a  man  to  die.'  '  Take  him  out,'  said  Napoleon, 
and  the  girl  saved  her  lover. 

"  In  this  tomb  Toussaint  was  buried,  but  he  did  not 
die  fast  enough.  Finally  the  commandant  was  told  to 
go  into  Switzerland,  to  carry  the  keys  of  the  dungeon 
with  him,  and  to  stay  four  days ;  when  he  returned, 
Toussaint  was  found  starved  to  death.  .  .  . 

"  '  Ko  KETALiATioN,'  was  his  great  motto  and  the  rule 


204  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

of  his  life;  and  the  last  Avords  uttered  to  his  son  in 
Fmnce  were  these,  '  My  boy,  you  Avill  one  day  go  back 
to  St.  Domingo ;  forget  that  France  murdered  your 
father.' " 

Early  in  1863  Phillips  saw  colored  troops,  the  Fifty- 
fourth  and  Fifty-fifth  llegiments,  march  tlirongh  the 
same  street  where  Garrison  had  been  mobbed  and 
Anthony  Burns  carried  back  into  slavery  by  United 
States  troops,  singing  the  John  ]>ro\vn  song.  Times 
were  indeed  changed  since  Phillips  himself  was  mobbed 
for  suggesting  negro  soldiers. 

When  the  war  was  over,  and  Abraham  Lincoln  lay 
dead,  Phillij)s  spoke  in  Tremont  Temple  to  a  hushed 
and  mourning  company:  "What  the  world  would  not 
look  at,  God  has  set  to-day  in  a  light  so  ghastly  bright 
that  it  dazzles  us  blind.  What  we  would  not  believe, 
God  has  written  all  over  the  face  of  the  continent  with 
the  sword's  point,  in  the  blood  of  our  best  and  most 
beloved.  We  believe  the  agony  of  the  slave's  hovel,  the 
mother,  and  the  liusband,  Avhen  it  takes  its  seat  at  our 
own  board.  .  .  . 

"  He  was  permitted  himself  to  deal  the  last  stagger- 
ing blow  whicli  sent  rebellion  reeling  to  its  grave  ;  and 
then,  holding  his  darling  boy  by  the  hand,  to  walk  the 
streets  of  its  surrendered  capital,  while  his  ears  drank 
in  praise  and  thanksgiving  wliich  bore  his  name  to  the 
throne  of  God  in  every  form  piety  and  gratitude  could 
invent;  and  finally  to  seal  the  sure  triumph  of  the 
cause  he  loved  with  his  own  blood.  He  cauglit  the  first 
notes  of  the  coming  jubilee,  and  heard  his  own  name 
in  every  one.  Who  among  living  men  may  not  envy 
him  ?  " 

In  the  great  matters  of  reconstruction  and  constitu- 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  205 

tional  changes,  Phillips  took  an  ardent  and  helpful  part. 
He  criticised  sharply,  perhaps  not  always  wisely,  (for 
who  can  be  infallible  in  judgment  ?)  but  he  was  always 
earnest  and  unseliish.  When  asked  to  let  his  name  be 
used  for  Congress,  he  refused,  preferring  to  hold  no 
party  allegiance  where  principle  was  at  stake. 

He  constantly  urged  the  ballot  for  the  negro.  "  Re- 
construct no  State,"  he  said,  "  without  giving  to  every 
loyal  man  in  it  the  ballot.  I  scout  all  limitations  of 
knowledge,  property,  or  race.  Universal  suffrage  for 
me  ;  that  was  the  Revolutionary  model.  Every  freeman 
voted,  black  or  white,  whether  he  could  read  or  not. 
My  rule  is,  any  citizen  liable  to  be  hanged  for  crime  is 
entitled  to  vote  for  rulers.  The  ballot  insures  the 
school." 

AVhen  the  slavery  question  was  settled,  Wendell 
Phillips  could  not  stop  working.  He  wrote  to  a  meeting 
of  his  old  abolition  comrades,  two  months  before  his 
death,  "  Let  it  not  be  said  that  the  old  abolitionist 
stopped  with  the  negro,  and  was  never  able  to  see  that 
the  same  principles  claimed  his  utmost  effort  to  protect 
all  labor,  white  and  black,  and  to  further  the  discussion 
of  every  claim  of  humanity." 

He  said  to  a  friend,  ''Now  that  the  field  is  won,  do 
you  sit  by  the  camp-fire,  but  I  will  put  out  into  the 
underbrush." 

He  had  for  years  been  a  total  abstainer,  and  now  more 
than  ever  was  an  earnest  advocate  of  prohibition.  In 
Tremont  Temj)le,  »lan.  24, 1881,  he  reviewed  Dr.  Crosby's 
"  Calm  view  of  Temperance." 

Phillips  stood  manfully  for  the  temperance  pledge. 
"We  make  a  pledge  by  joining  a  church,"  lie  said. 
"  The  husband  pledges  himself  to  his  wife,  and  she  to 


206  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

him,  for  life.  Is  the  marriage  ceremony,  then,  a  curse, 
a  hindrance  to  virtue  and  progress  ? 

"  Society  rests  in  all  its  transactions  on  the  idea  that 
a  solemn  promise,  pledge,  assertion,  strengthens  and 
assures  the  act.  .  .  .  The  witness  on  the  stand  gives 
solemn  promise  to  tell  the  truth ;  the  officer  about  to 
assume  place  for  one  year,  or  ten,  or  for  life,  pledges  his 
word  and  oath  ;  the  grantor  in  a  deed  binds  himself  for 
all  time  by  record ;  clmrches,  societies,  universities,  ac- 
cept funds  on  pledge  to  appropriate  them  to  certain  pur- 
poses and  no  other.  .  .  .  No  man  ever  denounced  these 
pledges  as  unmanly.  .  .  .  The  doctor's  principle  would 
unsettle  society ;  and  if  one  proposed  to  apply  it  to  any 
cause  but  temperance,  practical  men  would  quietly  put 
him  aside  as  out  of  his  head." 

Phillips  told  this  story  concerning  the  pledge.  A  man 
about  sixty  came  to  sit  beside  him  as  he  was  travelling 
in  a  railway  car.  He  had  heard  Phillips  lecture  on  tem- 
perance the  previous  evening.  "  I  am  master  of  a  ship," 
said  lie,  "sailing  out  of  Xew  York,  and  have  just  re- 
turned from  my  fiftieth  voyage  across  the  Atlantic. 
About  thirty  years  ago  I  was  a  sot,  shipped,  while  dead 
drunk,  as  one  of  the  crew,  and  was  carried  on  board  like 
a  log.  "When  I  came  to,  the  captain  sent  for  me.  He 
asked  me,  '  Do  you  remember  your  mother  ?  '  I  told 
him  she  died  before  I  could  remember  anything.  '  AVell,' 
said  he,  '  I  am  a  Vermont  man.  When  I  was  young  I 
was  crazy  to  go  to  sea.  At  last  my  mother  consented 
I  should  seek  my  fortune  in  New  York.' 

*'  He  told  how  she  stood  on  one  side  the  garden  gate 
and  he  on  the  other,  ^hen,  with  his  bundle  on  his  arm, 
he  was  ready  to  walk  to  the  next  town.  She  said  to 
him,  '  My  boy,  I  don't  know  anything  about  towns,  and 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  207 

I  never  saw  the  sea;  but  they  tell  me  those  great  towns 
are  sinks  of  wickedness,  and  make  thousands  of  drunk- 
ards. Now,  promise  me  you'll  never  drink  a  drop  of 
liquor.' 

"  He  said,  '  I  laid  my  hand  in  hers  and  promised,  as  I 
looked  into  her  eyes  for  the  last  time.  She  died  soon 
after.  I've  been  on  every  sea,  and  seen  the  worst  kinds 
of  life  and  men.  They  laughed  at  me  as  a  milksop,  and 
wanted  to  know  if  I  was  a  coward ;  but  when  they  offered 
me  liquor,  I  saw  my  mother  across  tlie  gate,  and  1  never 
drank  a  drop.  It  has  been  my  sheet-anchor.  I  owe  all 
to  that.     Would  you  like  to  take  that  pledge  ?  '  said  he." 

He  took  it.  *'  It  has  saved  me,"  he  said.  *'  I  have  a 
fine  ship,  wife  and  cliildren  at  home,  ai\d  I  have  helped 
others." 

Dr.  Crosby  favored  license.  Phillips  said,  "  The  stat- 
ute books  in  forty  States  are  filled  with  the  abortions  of 
thousands  of  license  laws  that  were  never  executed,  and 
most  of  them  were  never  intended  to  be." 

''No  one  supposes,"  said  Pliillips  later,  ''tliat  law  can 
make  men  temperate.  .  .  .  Put  law  can  sliut  up  those 
bars  and  dram-shops  which  facilitate  and  feed  intemper- 
ance, which  double  our  taxes,  make  our  streets  unsafe 
for  men  of  feeble  resolution,  treble  the  peril  to  property 
and  life,  and  make  the  masses  tools  in  the  hands  of  de- 
signing men  to  undermine  and  cripple  law." 

Phillips  also  work(;d  untiringly  for  labor  reform.  He 
wrote  to  Mr.  George  J.  llolyoakc,  in  England,  "  Tliere'll 
never  be,  I  believe  and  trust,  a  class-party  here,  labor 
against  capital,  the  lines  are  so  indefinite,  like  dove's- 
neck  colors.  Three-fourths  of  our  population  are  to 
some  extent  ca})italists ;  and,  again,  all  see  that  tliere  is 
really,  and  ought  always  to  be,  alliance,  not  struggle. 


208  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

between  them."  Again  he  said,  "  Capital  and  labor  are 
only  the  two  arms  of  a  pair  of  scissors,  —  useless  when 
separate,  and  only  safe  when  fastened  together,  cutting 
everything  before  them." 

He  urged  fewer  hours  for  labor,  better  wages,  and 
united  effort  among  workingmen.  He  said  to  them, 
"  Why  have  you  not  carried  your  ends  before  ?  Because 
in  ignorance  and  division  you  liave  let  the  other  side  have 
their  own  way.  We  are  ruled  by  brains.  .  .  .  You 
want  books  and  journals.  .  .  .  When  men  have  wrongs 
to  complain  of  they  should  go  to  the  ballot-box  and  right 
them.  .  .  .  Men  always  lose  half  of  what  is  gained 
by  violence.  What  is  gained  by  argument  is  gained 
forever." 

In  an  address  in  1872  he  said  to  labor,  "  If  you  want 
power  in  this  country,  if  you  want  to  make  yourselves 
felt,  .  .  .  write  on  your  banner,  so  that  every  political 
trimmer  can  read  it,  so  that  every  politician,  no  matter 
how  short-siglited  he  may  be,  can  read  it:  *We  never 
forget!  If  you  launch  the  arrow  of  sarcasm  at  labor, 
we  never  forget;  if  there  is  a  division  in  Congress,  and 
you  throw  your  vote  in  the  wrong  scale,  we  never  forget.' " 

Mr.  Phillips  carried  out  liis  ideas  of  labor  under  his 
own  roof.  So  kind  and  considerate  was  he  to  his  ser- 
vants, that  his  cook,  who  was  his  nurse  in  childhood,  used 
to  leave  the  door  open  into  the  kitclien,  that  she  might 
hear  him  pass  and  repass.  She  said,  "  Bless  him,  there 
is  more  music  in  his  footfall  than  in  a  cathedral  organ ! " 

When  she  was  too  old  for  work,  he  j)laced  lier  in  a 
home  of  her  own,  and  went  to  see  her  every  Saturday, 
when  possible,  with  many  gifts  for  her  comfort,  till  slie 
died.  He  paid  tlie  best  wages  to  servants  of  anybody 
ill  the  neighborhood.  "  Good  pay,  good  service,"  he 
used  to  say. 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  209 

He  was  always  generous.  One  day  on  the  cars  lie  met 
a  woman  thinly  clad,  a  lecturer  from  the  South,  a  niece 
of  Jeiferson  Davis,  as  he  afterwards  learned.  She  had 
received  live  dollars  for  her  work.  Mr.  l*hillips  said, 
"  I  don't  want  to  give  offence,  but  you  know  1  preach 
that  a  woman  is  entitled  to  the  same  as  a  man  if  she 
does  the  same  work.  Now,  my  price  is  fifty  or  a  hun- 
dred dollars ;  and,  if  you  will  let  me  divide  it  with  you, 
I  shall  not  have  had  any  more  than  you,  and  the  thing 
will  be  even." 

The  lady  at  first  refused,  but  Avas  persuaded  t(j  take 
it.  When  she  reached  home  she  found  there  were  fifty 
dollars  —  all  he  had  received  for  his  lecture  at  Gloucester. 

In  1870  Phillips  accepted  the  nomination  for  the  gov- 
ernorship of  Massachusetts  from  the  i)rohibition  and 
the  labor  parties,  though  he  said,  and  undoubtedly  with 
truth,  that  he  had  no  desire  to  be  governor.  He  received 
over  twenty  thousand  votes. 

When  blamed  because  he  favored  General  ])utler  for 
governor,  he  replied  that  he  did  not  kn(»w  a  man  among 
all  the  candidates  whom  he  Avould  make  a  saint  of. 
"  The  difficulty  is,"  said  he,  with  his  natural  love  of 
humor,  "  saints  do  not  come  very  often  ;  and,  when  they 
do,  it  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  get  them  into 
politics." 

When  Andrew  Johnson  was  not  ini])oaohed,  as  l'hillii)s 
hoped  he  would  be,  he  used  to  say,  "  Congress  has  de- 
])osed  him  without  im|)oaohment.  '  Friend,  I'll  not  shoot 
thee,' said  the  Quaker  to  tlic  footpad,  'but  I'll  hold  tliy 
head  in  the  water  until  thee  drown  tliyself.'  Tlie  Re- 
publican party  has  taken  a  leaf  out  of  that  scrupulous 
Christian's  book." 

Phillips  was  a  Protectionist.     In  early  life  he  was  a 


210  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

free-trader,  but  changed  his  views.  "  Under  free  trade," 
he  said,  "  our  country  would  be  wholly  agricultural.  .  .  . 
Should  we  lose  our  diversified  occupations,  we  would 
suffer  a  great  loss,  though  there  might  be  a  pecuniary 
gain.  ...  If  all  the  world  were  under  one  law,  and 
every  man  raised  to  the  level  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  free  trade  would  be  so  easy  and  charming !  But 
while  nations  study  only  how  to  cripple  their  enemies, — 
that  is,  their  neighbors,  —  and  while  each  trader  strives 
to  cheat  his  customer,  and  strangle  the  firm  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  we  must  not  expect  the  mil- 
lennium." 

He  smiled  at  the  "shoals  of  college-boys,  slenderly 
furnished  with  Greek  and  Latin,  but  steeped  in  marvel- 
lous and  delightful  ignorance  of  life  and  public  affairs, 
filling  the  country  with  free-trade  din." 

Phillips  i)leaded  the  cause  of  the  Irish  in  his  wonder- 
ful lecture  on  Daniel  O'Connell.  He  was  also  the  friend 
and  advocate  of  the  Indian. 

He  opposed  oa]»ital  punisliment,  because  he  tliought  the 
old  Testament  law — about  which  scholars  disagree  — 
was  no  more  binding  upon  us  than  scores  of  others  given 
to  the  Jews  about  "  abstaining  from  meats  offered  to 
idols,  and  from  blood  and  from  things  strangled,"  etc. 
Once  men  were  hanged  in  England  for  stealing  a  shil- 
ling. We  are  gradually  learning  that  reform  is  what 
society  needs  —  not  revenge. 

Mr.  Phillips  spoke  on  finance  before  tlie  American 
Social  Science  Association.  His  plan  was,  says  Austin: 
"Take  from  the  national  banks  all  right  to  issue  bills; 
let  the  nation  itself  supply  a  currency  ample  for  all  pub- 
lic needs  ;  reduce  the  rate  of  interest." 

In  the  summer  of   18<S0  Mr.    Phillips  and    his  wife 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  211 

spent  some  time  at  Princeton,  Mass.  He  was  then  sixty- 
nine  years  old.  He  wrote  a  friend :  "  I  laze  and  ride  on 
horseback,  exploring  the  drives.  .  .  .  The  rest  of  the 
time  I  sleep.  I  weigh  a  hundred  and  seventy -five  pounds, 
and  don't  feel  as  old  as  I  am." 

To  another  friend  he  wrote  of  the  extreme  stillness  of 
the  place :  "  A  passer-by  is  an  event.  The  only  noise 
ever  made  is  by  the  hens.  The  only  thing  that  ever 
hai)pens  is  when  we  miss  the  cat.  But  we  always  keep 
awake  at  the  sunsets,  they  are  splendid.'' 

The  next  year,  June  30,  1881,  he  was  asked  to  give 
the  address  at  Harv^ard  College,  on  the  Centennial  Anni- 
versary of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa.  His  subject  was  "  The 
Scholar  in  a  Republic." 

"  It  was,"  says  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  ''  the 
tardy  recognition  of  him  by  his  oavu  college  and  his  own 
literary  society,  and  proved  to  be,  in  some  respects,  the 
most  remarkable  effort  of  his  life.  He  never  seemed 
more  at  liis  ease,  more  colloquial  and  more  extemporane- 
ous ;  and  he  held  an  unwilling  audience  spellbound, 
while  bating  absolutely  nothing  of  his  radicalism." 

He  pleaded  for  the  great  reforms  for  which  he  had  la- 
bored all  his  life.  "  The  fathers,"  he  said,  "  touched  their 
highest  level  when,  with  stout-hearted  and  serene  faith, 
they  trusted  God  that  it  was  safe  to  leave  men  with  all 
the  rights  he  gave  them.  Let  us  be  worthy  of  their 
blood,  and  save  this  sheet-anchor  of  the  race,  —  universal 
suffrage,  —  Cod's  church,  God's  school,  God's  method  of 
gently  binding  men  into  commonwealths  in  order  that 
they  may  at  last  melt  into  brotliers.  .  .  . 

"  These  agitations  are  the  opportunities  and  the  means 
God  offers  us  to  refine  the  taste,  mould  the  character, 
lift   the  purpose,  and  educate  tlie  moral  sense  of  the 


212  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

masses,  on  whose  intelligence  and  self-respect  rests  the 
State.  God  furnishes  these  texts.  He  gathers  for  us 
this  audience,  and  only  asks  of  our  coward  lips  to  preach 
the  sermons.  .  .  . 

"  If  in  this  critical  battle  for  universal  suffi-age  .  .  . 
there  be  any  weapon,  which,  once  taken  from  the  armory, 
will  make  victory  certain,  it  will  be,  as  it  has  been  in 
art,  literature,  and  society,  summoning  woman  into  the 
political  arena.  .  .  .  The  literary  class,  until  half  a 
dozen  years,  has  taken  note  of  this  great  uprising  only  to 
fling  every  obstacle  in  its  way. 

"  The  first  glimpse  we  get  of  Saxon  blood  in  history 
is  that  line  of  Tacitus  in  his  'Germany,'  which  reads, 
*In  all  grave  matters  they  consult  their  women.' 
Years  hence,  when  robust  Saxon  sense  has  flung  away 
Jewish  superstition  and  Eastern  prejudice,  and  put 
under  its  foot  fastidious  scholarship  and  squeamish  fash- 
ion, some  second  Tacitus,  from  the  Valley  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, will  answer  to  him  of  the  Seven  Hills,  'In  all 
grave  questions  we  consult  our  women.'  .  .  . 

"  To  be  as  good  as  our  fathers  we  must  be  better.  .  .  . 
With  serene  faith  they  persevered.  Let  us  rise  to  their 
level.  Crush  appetite  and  prohibit  temptation  if  it  rots 
great  cities." 

In  the  winter  of  1882  he  made  his  last  lecture  tour, 
when  he  was  seventy-one.  He  had  the  same  noble  pres- 
ence, the  same  exquisitely  toned  voice  which  began  his 
speech  as  in  ordinary  conversation,  the  same  calm  self- 
poised  manner,  as  in  middle  life.  The  eyes  were  blue 
and  small,  the  smile  sweet,  the  figure  straight,  the  whole 
bearing  one  of  perfect  mastery  of  both  self  and  audi- 
ence. I  have  heard,  "  his  attitude  was  a  study  for  the 
sculptor  —  yet  unconscious  and  natural,"  truly  says  Mr. 


WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  213 

Martyn.  "  The  weight  of  the  body  was  usually  sn-p- 
ported  upon  the  left  foot,  with  the  right  slightly  ad- 
vanced at  an  easy  angle  —  an  attitude  of  combined 
firmness  and  repose." 

His  speeches  were  never  written  out.  He  disliked 
writing,  and  tliought  it  "a  mild  form  of  slavery  —  a  man 
chained  to  an  ink-pot."  He  said,  "The  chief  thing  I 
aim  at  is  to  master  my  subject.  Then  I  earnestly  try  to 
get  the  audience  to  think  as  I  do." 

He  once  wrote  a  young  man,  who  had  asked  him  about 
public  speaking :  "  I  think  practice  with  all  kinds  of 
audiences  the  best  of  teachers.  Think  out  your  subject 
carefully.  Kead  all  you  can  relative  to  the  themes  you 
touch.  Fill  your  mind ;  and  then  talk  simply  and  natu- 
rally. Forget  altogether  that  you  are  to  make  a  speech 
or  are  making  one.  .  .  .  Rcnunnber  to  talk  up  to  an 
audience,  not  down  to  it.  The  commonest  aiulience  can 
relish  the  best  thing  you  can  say  if  you  say  it  properly. 
Be  simple,  be  earnest." 

"  He  faced  his  audience,"  says  Curtis,  "  with  a  trancpiil 
mien,  aiul  a  beaming  aspect  that  was  never  dimmed.  He 
spoke,  and  in  the  measured  cadence  of  his  cpiiet  voice 
there  was  intense  feeling,  but  no  declamation,  no  pas- 
sionate appeal,  no  superficial  and  feigned  emotion.  It 
was  simi)ly  colloquy  —  a  gentleman  conversing.  Un- 
consciously and  surely  the  ear  and  heart  were  charmed. 

"How  was  it  done?  Ah!  how  did  jMozart  do  it,  how 
Raphael  ?  The  secret  of  the  rose's  sweetness,  of  the 
bird's  ecstasy,  of  tlie  sunset's  glory  —  tliat  is  the  secret 
of  genius  and  of  ehxpience." 

Phillips's  habit  in  travelling  was  to  carry  a  large  shawl, 
which  he  always  spread  between  the  sheets  of  his  bed  in 
the  various  hotels,  to  prevent  a  cold ;  an  example  to  other 


214  WENDELL   PHILLIPS, 

speakers.  His  siqiper  before  an  address  was  usually,  it 
is  said,  three  raw  eggs  and  a  cup  of  tea. 

Mr.  Phillips  had  already  moved  his  home  from  26 
Essex  Street,  in  the  spring  of  1881,  to  No.  37  Common 
Street,  not  far  away,  as  his  home  had  to  be  torn 
down  for  the  Avidening  of  the  street.  It  was  a  severe 
trial  to  both,  but  it  did  not  remain  their  earthly  home 
for  long. 

Mr.  Phillips  made  his  last  public  address  at  tlie  un- 
veiling of  Anne  Whitney's  statue  of  Harriet  Martineau 
at  the  "  Old  South  "  Church,  Boston,  Dec.  20,  1883. 

His  wife  was  seriously  ill  through  January,  and  he 
watched  most  devotedly  by  her  bedside.  On  the  20th  of 
the  month  he  was  taken  ill  with  angina  pectoris.  He 
felt  tliat  the  end  was  near.  He  said,  "  I  have  no  fear  of 
death.  I  have  long  foreseen  it.  My  only  regret  is  for 
poor  Ann.  I  had  hoped  to  close  her  eyes  before  mine 
were  shut."  To  a  friend  who  spoke  to  him  of  his  al- 
ways expressed  belief  in  the  divinity  of  Christ,  though 
many  of  his  friends  were  Unitarian,  he  said,  quoting  the 
words  of  an  eminent  Semitic  scholar  :  "  I  find  the  whole 
history  of  humanity  before  him  and  after  him  points 
to  him,  and  finds  in  him  its  centre  and  its  solution. 
His  whole  conduct,  his  deeds,  his  words,  have  a  super- 
natural character,  being  altogether  inexplicable  from 
liuman  relations  and  human  means.  I  feel  that  here 
there  is  something  more  than  man." 

"  Then  you  have  no  doubt  about  a  future  life  ?  "  said 
the  friend. 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  it  as  I  am  that  there  will  be  a  to- 
morrow," was  the  reply. 

On  Saturday  evening,  Feb.  2,  1884,  at  fifteen  minutes 
past  six,  he  closed  his  eyes  calmly  and  quietly  forever. 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  2.15 

All  Boston,  all  America,  was  moved  at  the  death  of  the 
great  leader  —  patrician  born,  yet  the  people's  advocate. 
The  funeral  was  held  at  eleven  o'clock  Wednesday, 
Feb.  6,  at  Hollis-street  Church,  and  then  the  body  was 
borne  to  Faneuil  Hall,  two  colored  companies  forming  a 
guard  of  honor. 

There,  where  he  had  won  his  first  fame  in  youth  at 
the  Lovejoy  meeting,  where  he  had  stirred  tlie  whole 
land  by  his  ehxjuence  in  the  cause  of  the  ojjpressed,  it 
was  fitting  he  should  sleep  at  last. 

The  Irish  National  League  of  Boston  sent  a  mound  of 
flowers,  three  feet  by  four,  with  the  word  "  Humanity  " 
in  the  centre,  in  violets  on  a  bed  of  carnations.  The 
Irisli-American  Societies  of  lioston  sent  a  harp  four  feet 
high  of  ivy  leaves  and  japonicas,  with  the  word  "■  Ireland  " 
in  the  centre.  One  of  the  harp  strings  was  broken. 
Others  sent  a  sheaf  of  ripened  wheat,  a  crown  of  ivy  and 
roses,  and  a  wreath  of  laurel. 

From  one  o'clock  till  four,  thousands  passed  the  form 
of  their  beloved  dead  ;  rich  and  poor,  Irish  and  Ameri- 
can, black  and  wliite,  children  and  adults.  One  old 
colored  woman,  with  tears  flowing  down  lier  cheeks, 
said,  "Our  Wendell  Philips  has  gone."  Anotlier  said, 
"  He  was  de  bes'  fren'  we  ever  lied.  We  owes  him  a 
heap  !  " 

Frederick  Douglass  looked  on  in  sorrow.  "  1  wanted 
to  see  this  throng,"  he  said,  "  and  to  see  the  hold  tliat 
this  man  had  upon  tlie  community.  It  is  a  wonderfid 
tribute." 

Thousands  were  unable  to  enter  Faneuil  Hall,  and 
filled  every  available  inch  of  si)ace  in  the  street,  aiul 
windows  and  balconies  of  buildings.  A  vast  crowd 
followed  up  State  Street  to  Washington,  up  School  to 


216  WENDELL   rniLLIPS. 

Tremont,  to  the  old  Granary  buvying-ground,  where  the 
body  was  laid  in  the  family  vault. 

Mrs.  Philli[)s  died  Saturday,  April  24,  1886,  two  years 
after  her  husband.  Slie  had  been  closely  confined  to  her 
home  for  the  greater  part  of  fifty  years.  "  She  lay  as  if 
asleep,"  says  Francis  J.  Garrison,  "  with  all  the  purity 
and  guilelessness  of  her  youthful  face  ripened  into  ma- 
turity.    It  seemed  transfiguration." 

The  body  of  Wendell  Phillips  was  carried  with  that  of 
his  wife  to  Milton,  a  beautiful  suburb  where  they  had 
often  spent  their  summers ;  and  both  were  buried  in  the 
same  grave,  side  by  side,  in  a  loj;  which  he  had  pur- 
chased a  year  or  two  before  his  death.  A  noble  pine- 
tree  stands  near  the  spot.  On  a  plain  slab  at  the 
head  of  the  grave  are  the  words,  "  Ann  and  Wendell 
Phillips." 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER. 


"  The  most  brilliant  and  fertile  pulpit-genius  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  the  most  widely  influential 
American  of  his  time,"  says  John  Henry  Barrows  in  his 
masterly  life  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  "  To  tlie  sensi- 
tive heart  of  a  woman,  he  added  a  lion-like  courage,  and 
a  Miltonic  loftiness  of  spirit.  To  the  more  than  royal 
imagination  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  he  added  a  zeal  as  warm 
as  Whitefield's.  In  him  the  wit  of  Sydney  Smith  was 
combined  with  the  common-sense  of  John  Bunyan. 

"In  the  annals  of  oratory  his  place  is  near  that  of 
Demosthenes.  Among  reformers  he  need  fear  no  com- 
parison with  Wendell  Bliillips,  John  I>right,  Ma/.ziiii,  or 
Charles  Sumner.  In  moral  genius  for  statesmanship  he 
was  the  brother  of  Abraham  Lincoln ;  and,  in  the  annals 
of  the  pulpit,  lie  can  only  be  mentioned  with  the  greatest 
names, — Chrysosfcom,  Bernard,  Lutlier,  Wesley,  Clial- 
mers,  Spurgeon." 

Dr.  Mark  Hopkins,  in  Edward  W.  Uok's  "Memorial 
Volume,"  said  of  Henry  Ward  Beccher's  forty  years  in 
Plymouth  pulpit,  "No  such  instance  of  prolonged,  steady 
power  at  one  pf)int.  in  connection  witli  other  labors  so 
extended  and  diversified,  and  magnificent  in  their  lesults, 
has  ever  been  known." 

Dr.  Thomas  Armitage  of  the  Fifth-avenue  Baptist 
Church,  Kew  York,  his  life-long  friend,  gave  Beecher 

217 


218  UENRY    WARD  BEECUER. 

"  the  first  place  among  the  preachers  of  the  worhl  to- 
day." Dr.  Robert  Collyer  said,  "To  my  mind,  he  was 
the  greatest  preacher  on  tliis  planet.  .  .  .  Men  will  be 
his  debtors  for  ages  to  come." 

June  24, 1891,  the  statue  of  this  great  American  leader, 
by  John  Quincy  Adams  Ward,  was  unveiled  in  front  of 
Brooklyn  City  Hall.  Three  hundred  children  from  Plym- 
outh Church  Sunday-school  sang  his  favorite  hymn,  — 

"  Love  divine,  all  love  excelling,'' 

accompanied  by  the  band  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher,  the  son  of  the  Rev.  Lyman 
Beecher  and  Roxana  Foote,  was  born  in  Litchfield, 
Conn.,  June  24,  1813.  The  father  was  an  eloquent, 
fearless,  great-hearted  man,  the  son  and  grandson  of  a 
sturdy  blacksmith  ;  the  motlier  a  refined,  dignified,  intel- 
lectual, beautiful,  and  superior  woman.  Her  family 
connections  were  of  the  best  in  New  England.  Her 
ancestor,  James  Foote,  an  English  officer,  aided  Charles 
II.  of  England  to  hide  himself  in  the  Royal  Oak  which 
grew  in  a  field  of  clover,  and  for  this  was  knighted; 
the  family  coat-of-arms  bearing  an  oak  for  its  crest  with 
a  clover-leaf  in  its  quarterings. 

Roxana,  the  granddaugliter  of  General  Ward  of  Revo- 
lutionary fame,  was  remarkably  well  educated  for  the 
times.  She  was  versed  in  literature  and  history,  wliich 
she  studied  while  she  spun  flax,  tying  her  books  to  the 
distaff,  —  no  wonder  that  her  great  son  was  an  omniver- 
ous  reader,  —  she  wrote  and  spoke  the  French  language 
fluently,  drew  witli  the  pencil,  and  painted  with  the 
brush  on  ivory,  sang  and  played  on  the  guitar,  and  was 
an  expert  with  her  needle. 


HENRY  WARD   BEECHER. 


HENRY    WARD   li  EEC  HER.  219 

After  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Beeclier,  she  opened  a 
school  for  girls  in  their  parish  at  East  Hampton,  Long 
Island,  to  eke  out  a  living  on  their  four  hundred  dollars 
salary.  From  here  they  were  called  in  1810,  eleven 
years  after  their  marriage,  to  the  hilly,  lonely  town  of 
Litchfield,  Conn.,  bringing  tlieir  six  little  children  Avith 
them. 

Henry  Ward  was  the  ninth  child,  the  eighth  then 
living. 

So  many  cares  and  privations  broke  down  the  beauti- 
ful mother,  who  died  when  Henry  was  three  years 
old. 

A  friend  of  the  family  writes :  "  She  told  her  husband 
that  her  views  and  anticipations  of  heaven  had  been  so 
great  that  she  could  hardly  sustain  it,  and  if  tliey  had 
been  increased  she  should  have  been  overwhelmed,  and 
that  her  Saviour  had  constantly  blessed  her ;  that  she 
had  peace  without  one  cloud,  and  that  she  had  never 
during  her  sickness  prayed  for  life.  She  dedicated  her 
sons  to  God  for  missicmaries,  and  said  that  lier  greatest 
desire  was  that  her  children  might  be  trained  up  for 
God.  .  .  . 

"She  attempted  to  speak  to  her  cliildren ;  but  she  was 
extremely  exhausted,  and  their  cries  and  sobs  were  such 
that  she  could  say  but  little.  She  told  them  that  (Jod 
could  do  more  for  them  than  she  had  done  or  coidd  do, 
and  tliat  they  nuist  trust  him." 

After  Lyman  lieecher  had  prayed,  "she  fell  into  a 
sweet  sleep  from  whicli  slie  awoke  in  heaven.  It  is  a 
moving  scene  to  see  eight  little  cliildi-cn  weeping  around 
the  bed  of  a  dying  mother." 

"  They  told  us,"  says  Mrs.  Harriet  Beeclier  Stowe,  "  at 
one  tin\e  that  she  had  been  laid  in  the  ground,  at  another 


220  UENRY   WARD  BEECIIER. 

that  she  had  gone  to  heaven.  Whereupon  Henry,  putting 
the  two  things  together,  resolved  to  dig  through  the 
ground  and  go  to  find  her;  for  being  discovered  under 
sister  Catherine's  window  one  morning  digging  with 
great  zeal  and  earnestness,  she  called  to  him  to  know 
what  he  was  doing,  and,  lifting  his  curly  head,  with 
great  simplicity  he  answered,  'Why,  I  am  going  to 
heaven  to  find  ma  ! '  " 

The  benign  influence  of  this  lovely  mother  was  never 
forgotten  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  He  said :  "  I  have 
only  such  a  remembrance  of  her  as  you  have  of  the 
clouds  of  ten  years  ago,  faint,  evanescent,  and  yet,  caught 
by  imagination  and  fed  by  that  which  I  have  heard  of 
her,  and  by  what  my  father's  thought  and  feeling  of  her 
Avere,  it  has  come  to  be  so  much  to  me  that  no  devout 
Catholic  ever  saw  so  much  in  the  Virgin  Mary  jis  I  liave 
seen  in  my  motlier,  who  has  been  a  presence  to  me  ever 
since  I  can  remember.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  wliy  so  often 
I  speak  what  must  seem  to  some  of  you  rhapsody  of 
Avoman  ?  It  is  because  I  liad  a  mother,  and  if  I  were  to 
live  a  thousand  years  I  could  not  express  what  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  least  that  I  owe  to  her.  .  .  . 

"She  has  been  part  and  parcel  of  my  upi)er  life  —  a 
star  whose  parallax  I  could  not  take,  but  nevertheless, 
shining  from  afar,  she  has  been  th(^  light  that  lit  me 
easier  into  the  tliouglit  of  tlie  invisible  and  tlie  presence 
of  the  Divine." 

Again  her  distinguished  son  wrote :  "  There  are  few 
born  into  this  world  tliat  are  her  equals.  81ie  was 
a  woman  of  extraordinary  graces  and  gifts ;  a  wonuin 
not  demonstrative,  with  a  profound  jjhilosopliical  nature, 
of  a  wonderful  depth  of  affection,  and  with  a  serenity 
that  was  simply  charming.     From  her  I  received  my  love 


HENRY   WARD   BEECUER.  221 

of  the  beautiful,  my  poetic  temperament ;  from  her  also 
I  received  simplicity  and  childlike  faith  in  God." 

When  Henry  Ward  was  eighteen,  he  found  some 
letters  of  his  mother  to  his  father.  He  wrote  in  his 
diary :  "  0  my  mother !  I  could  not  help  kissing  the 
letters.  I  looked  at  the  paper  and  thought  that  her 
hand  had  rested  upon  it  while  writing  it.  The  hand  of 
my  mother !  She  had  formed  every  letter  which  I  saw. 
She  had  looked  upon  that  paper  which  I  now  looked 
iipon.     She  had  folded  it.     She  had  sent  it." 

The  Rev.  Lyman  Beecher  said  of  her,  "  I  never  heard 
a  murmur,  ...  I  never  witnessed  a  movement  of  the 
least  degree  of  selfishness ;  and  if  there  ever  was  any 
such  thing  in  the  world  as  disinterestedness,  she  had  it." 

Henry  Ward  repeats  this  incident  told  him  by  his 
father :  "  One  day,  being  much  annoyed  by  some  hogs 
that  kept  getting  into  his  garden,  he  seized  his  gun  and 
rushed  to  the  door.  ls\y  mother  anxiously  followed,  and 
cried,  *  0  father,  don't  shoot  the  poor  things ! '  He 
flashed  back  at  her,  '  Woman,  go  into  the  house  ! '  and 
when  he  was  telling  me  of  it  years  afterwards  he  said : 
'  Without  a  word  or  look  she  turned,  quietly,  majestic- 
ally, and  went  in  —  but  she  didn't  get  in  before  I  did. 
I  threw  my  arms  around  her  in  an  agony  of  self-reproach, 
and  cried  "  Forgive  me,  oh,  forgive  me  !  "  She  uttered  no 
word,  but  she  looked  at  me  like  a  queen  —  and  smiled  — 
and  kissed  my  fact; ;  my  passion  was  gone,  and  my 
offence  forgiven.'  Up  to  the  last  of  his  life  he  never 
spoke  of  her  but  with  intensest  admiration  and  loving 
remembrance." 

About  a  year  after  Roxana's  death,  Dr.  Lyman  I'eecher 
found  an  estimable  woman  willing  to  be  a  mother  to  the 
eight  motherless  children,  and  to  take  summer  boarders 


222  IIENllY  WARD  BEECUER. 

to  help  support  the  family,  whose  income  was  eight  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year.  She  must  have  been  a  woman  of 
great  self-sacrifice. 

Young  Henry  thought  her  saintly,  but  cold.  "Al- 
though I  was  longing  to  love  somebody,"  he  writes,  "  she 
did  not  call  forth  my  affection ;  and  my  father  was  too 
busy  to  be  loved.  Therefore  I  had  to  expend  my  love 
on  Aunt  Chandler,  a  kind  soul  that  was  connected  with 
our  family,  and  the  black  woman  that  cooked,  who  was 
very  kind  to  me.  My  mother  that  brought  me  up  I 
never  thought  of  loving.  I  revered  her,  but  I  was  not 
attracted  to  her.  ...  I  knew  that  about  twilight  she 
prayed ;  and  I  had  a  great  shrinking  from  going  past  her 
door  at  the  time.  I  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
she  had  set  her  affections  on  things  above,  and  not  on 
things  beneath." 

At  four  years  of  age  Henry  went  to  Ma'am  Kilbourn's 
school,  where  he  repeated  his  letters  twice  a  day,  and 
later  to  the  district  school,  for  which  he  had  in  those 
days  no  affection.  "  In  winter,"  he  says,  "  we  were 
squeezed  into  the  recess  of  the  farthest  corner,  among 
little  boys,  who  seemed  to  be  sent  to  school  to  fill  up  the 
chinks  between  the  bigger  boys.  We  were  read  and 
spelt  twice  a  day,  unless  something  happened  to  prevent, 
which  did  haj^pen  about  every  other  day.  For  the  rest 
of  the  time  we  were  busy  in  keeping  still. 

"And  a  time  we  always  had  of  it.  Our  shoes  always 
would  be  scraping  on  the  floor  or  knocking  the  shins  of 
urchhis  who  were  also  Ix'ing  educated.  All  our  little 
legs  together  (poor,  tired,  nervous,  restless  legs  with 
nothing  to  do  !)  would  fill  up  tlie  corner  with  such  a 
noise  that,  every  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  the  master 
ivould   bring   down   his  two-foot  hickory  ferule  on  the 


BENRY   WARD  B  EEC  HER.  223 

desk  with  a  clap  that  sent  shivers  through  our  breasts  to 
think  how  that  would  have  felt  if  it  had  fallen  some- 
where else  ;  and  then  with  a  look  that  swept  us  all  into 
utter  extremity  of  stillness,  he  would  cry,  '  Silence  in 
that  corner  ! '  .  .  . 

"  Besides  this  our  principal  business  was  to  shake  and 
shiver  at  the  beginning  of  tht^  school  for  very  cold  ;  and 
to  sweat  and  stew  for  the  rest  of  the  time  before  the  fer- 
vid glances  of  a  great  iron  box  stove,  red-hot."  Those  of 
us  who  have  attended  district  schools  in  New  England 
will  recognize  the  truthfulness  of  the  pi(^ture. 

Henry  longed  for  birds  and  flowers  and  books,  as  in- 
deed he  did  all  through  college,  and  was  ever  a  deeper 
student  of  nature  than  of  books.  And  yet  in  after  years 
he  was  glad  for  some  of  these  school  experiences.  "  I 
am  thankful,"  he  says,  ''  that  I  learned  to  hem  towels  — 
as  I  did.  I  know  how  to  knit  suspenders  and  mittens. 
I  know  a  good  deal  about  working  in  wood-sawing,  chop- 
ping, splitting,  planing,  and  things  of  that  sort.  I  was 
brouglit  up  to  put  my  band  to  anytliiiig;  so  that  when  I 
went  West,  and  was  travelling  on  the  prairies  and  my 
liorse  lost  a  shoe,  and  I  came  to  a  cross-road  where  there 
was  an  abandoned  blacksmith's  shop,  T  cmdd  go  in  and 
start  the  fire,  and  fix  the  old  slioe  and  put  it  on  again. 
Wliat  man  has  done  man  can  do  ;  and  it  is  a  good  thing 
to  bring  \\\)  boys  so  that  tliey  shall  tliink  tliey  can  do 
anything.     I  could  do  anytliing." 

The  lad  was  sensitive  to  ])raise  oi- blame,  and  extremely 
diffident.  ''To  walk  into  a  room  wliere  'company  "  was 
assembled,  and  to  do  it  erect  and  naturally,  was  as  im- 
])ossible  as  it  w(ndd  have  been  to  fly.  .  .  .  Our  back- 
bone grew  soft,  our  knees  lost  their  stiffness,  the  blood 
rushed  to  the  head,  and  the  sight  almost  left  our  eyes. 


224  UENRY   WAltD  BEECHEIi. 

We  have  known  something  of  pain  in  after  years,  but 
few  pangs  have  been  more  acute  than  some  sufferings 
from  baslifulness  in  our  earlier  years." 

jVIr.  lieecher  felt  all  through  his  life  that  he  owed 
much  to  a  colored  man,  Charles  Smitli,  who  Avorked  on 
his  father's  farm  when  he  was  a  boy.  "He  used  to  lie 
upon  his  humble  bed,"  says  Mr.  Beecher,  "(I  slept  in 
the  same  room  with  him)  and  read  his  Testament,  un- 
conscious, apparently,  that  I  was  in  the  room.  ...  I 
never  had  heard  the  Bible  really  read  before  ;  but  there, 
in  my  presence,  he  read  it,  and  talked  about  it  to  him- 
self and  to  God.  .  .  .  He  talked  to  me  about  my  soul 
more  than  any  member  of  my  father's  family." 

Henry  was  taken  to  Bethlehem,  seven  miles  from 
Litchfield,  to  the  school  of  the  llev.  Mr.  Langdon  ;  but  he 
seems  here  also  to  have  loved  the  woods  and  flowers  so 
much  better  tlian  books,  that  he  was  finally  sent  to  Hart- 
ford to  the  care  of  liis  sister  Catherine,  who  taught  a 
school  for  young  ladies.  Thougli  a  favorite  on  account 
of  his  sunny  disposition,  he  proved  a  poor  scholar, 
and  was  sent  home  at  the  end  of  six  months.  When  the 
boy  was  thirteen,  Dr.  Lyman  l^eecher  moved  with  his 
family  to  Boston,  having  been  called  to  the  pastorate  of 
the  Hanover-street  Congregational  Church  at  the  North 
End. 

Here  he  loved  (Jlirist  Church  chimes,  listened  to  tlicir 
music  "  with  a  ])leasure  and  amazement,"  he  says.  "  whicli 
T  fear  nothing  will  ever  give  nu>  again  till  I  licar  tlie 
bells  ring  out  wondrous  things  in  the  New  Jerusalem," 
and  studied  ships  as  he  strolled  along  the  docks,  or 
lingered  in  Charlestown  Navy  Yard. 

At  the  latter  place  he  stole  a  six-pound  shot,  and  not 
knowing  how  to  get  it  home  unobserved,  carried  it  rolled 


HENRY   WARD  B  EEC  HER.  225 

in  a  handkerchief  on  the  top  of  his  head  under  his  hat. 
With  the  greatest  difficulty  he  brought  it  home,  and 
then  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it,  not  daring  to  show 
it,  nor  tell  where  he  got  it. 

"But  after  all,"  he  says,  "that  six-pounder  rolled  a 
good  deal  of  sense  into  my  skull.  I  think  it  was  the 
last  thing  I  ever  stole ;  and  it  gave  me  a  notion  of  the 
folly  of  coveting  more  than  you  can  enjoy,  which  has 
made  my  whole  life  happier." 

The  boy  who  had  so  loved  the  country  among  the  hills 
of  Connecticut,  became  gloomy  and  restless  shut  in  by 
tlie  treeless  city.  His  father  gave  him  the  lives  of 
Nelson  and  Captain  Cook  to  read,  and  the  lad  resolved 
to  go  to  sea.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  run  away 
without  telling  his  father,  which  he  did.  With  rare  tact 
Dr.  Beecher  replied  tliat  Henry  would  not  wish  to  be  an 
ordinary  sailor. 

"  No,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  want  to  be  a  midshipman, 
and  after  that  a  commodore." 

"I  see,"  said  the  father;  "and  in  order  fur  that  you 
must  begin  a  course  of  mathematics  and  study  naviga- 
tion. ...  I  will  send  you  up  to  Amherst  next  week, 
to  IVIount  I'leasant,  and  thei-e  you'll  begin  your  prepara- 
tory stiulies,  and  if  you  are  well  ]irei)ared  I  presume  I 
can  make  interest  to  get  you  an  api)()intment." 

At  fourteen  tlie  lad  ent(U-(Ml  INTount  Pleasant  Institute, 
the  fatlier  hoping  and  praying  that  liis  boy  "would  be;  in 
the  ministry  yet." 

With  Lord  Nelson  and  other  great  commanders  in 
mind,  he  determined  to  master  his  studies  and  be  some- 
body. Hard  mathematics  became  easier,  and  lie  liked 
the  drill  in  elocution.  He  enjoyed  sport  among  the 
boys,  and  the  semi-military  methods  of  the  scliool,  but 


226  HENRY   WARD  BEECnSR. 

best  of  all  he  liked  speucliug  liis  play-hours  in  caring  for 
beds  of  pansies  and  asters. 

During  a  revival  at  Mount  Pleasant,  Henry  was  much 
moved,  and  wrote  to  his  father,  who  advised  his  coming 
home  to  join  the  church.  He  did  so,  though  he  felt 
afterwards  that  the  change  in  his  life  was  not  as  thor- 
ough as  he  could  have  wished.  However,  it  obliterated 
the  desire  of  being  a  sailor,  and  turned  his  thoughts 
toward  the  ministry. 

When  he  was  seventeen,  in  1830,  he  entered  Amherst 
College.  The  great  beauty  of  the  scenery  always  had 
for  him  an  especial  charm.  "  I  used  to  look  across  the 
beautiful  Connecticut  liiver  valley,  and  at  the  blue 
mountains  that  hedged  it  in,  until  my  heart  swelled  and 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears." 

In  college  he  was  fond  of  athletic  sports,  ready  in  wit, 
beginning  to  show  his  eloquence  in  debate,  an  ardent 
temperance  advocate,  a  lover  of  rhetoric,  V)otany,  and 
geology,  and  a  warm  friend  to  his  classmates.  He  cared 
little  for  the  classics ;  but  lie  read  much,  especially  the 
old  English  authors,  Spenser,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  and 
others. 

Dr.  Roswell  D.  Hitchcock,  who  was  at  Amherst  Avith 
young  Beecher,  says,  "  He  was  by  all  odds  the  best 
debater  of  his  college  generation.  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  how  he  acquired  his  mastery  of  tlie  Englisli  lan- 
guage. .  .  .  The  four  books  which  })robably  helped  him 
most  were  the  ]Uble,  Sliakespeare,  Milton's  '  I'aradise 
Lost,'  and  Bunyan's  Tilgrim's  J'rogress.' '' 

"  He  was,"  said  Dr.  John  Haven,  a  classmate,  '•  a 
great  reader,  and  probably  had  more  general  knowledge 
than  any  one  of  his  classmates  when  he  graduated." 

He  necessarily  iised  the  greatest  economy  in  college. 


HENRY   WARD  BEECIIER.  227 

liis  board  costing  him  but  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  a 
week,  a  mile  from  college  grounds ;  and  when  vacation 
came  he  walked  more  than  a  hundred  miles  to  Boston, 
because  he  had  no  money  to  })ay  the  stage-coach  fare. 

Charles  l^eecher,  the  youngest  of  Roxaua's  children, 
was  in  college  with  his  brother  Henry.  Dr.  Beecher 
became  so  straitened  in  money  matters  that  it  seemed 
probable  that  the  sons  must  leave  college.  He  and  his 
wife  talked  the  matter  over  till  finally  he  said,  "Well, 
the  Lord  always  has  taken  care  of  me,  and  I  am  sure  he 
always  will."  The  motlier  lay  awake  after  she  had  gone 
to  bed,  and  cried  over  it ;  evidently  she  was  not  as  cold 
at  heart  as  the  young  Henry  Ward  thought. 

The  next  morning  Avas  the  Sabbath.  The  door-bell 
rang,  and  a  one  hundred  dollar  bill  was  handed  in  from 
Mr.  Homes,  as  a  thank-offering  for  the  conversion  of  one 
of  his  children.  The  way  was  now  opened  for  the  boys 
to  continue  their  college  course. 

After  Henry  had  been  at  Amherst  less  than  a  year,  in 
the  spring  vacation  of  1831,  he  and  another  student 
walked  fifty  miles  to  the  home  of  a  classmate,  and  there 
fell  in  love  with  tlie  sister  of  the  latter,  Eunice  White 
Bullard,  daughter  of  Dr.  Artemas  Bullard  of  West  Sut- 
ton, Mass. 

"  After  our  outside  work  was  done,"  writes  Mrs.  Beecher, 
years  later,  "  mother  and  I  took  knitting  and  sewing  and 
sat  down  with  them.  I  was  going  to  wind  a  skein  of 
sewing-silk  (that  was  before  spools  were  common),  and, 
as  was  my  custom,  put  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair.  More 
gallant  and  thoughtful,  apparenthj,  than  his  older  com- 
panions, this  young  gentleman  insisted  upon  holding  it 
for  me  to  wind.  For  some  reason  — perfcethj  tinaceount- 
ahle,  if  one  judged  only  by  his  (piiet,  innocent  face,  with- 


228  JIENllY    WARB  BEECIIER. 

out  watching  the  eyes  and  mouth  —  that  skein  became 
as  intricately  tangled  as  if  tied  by  Macbeth's  witches. 

"  '  A  badly  tangled  skein  is  it  not  ?  '  said  he,  when  1 
had  lost  half  my  evening  in  getting  it  Avound. 

"'Rather  more  troublesome,  I  imagine,  than  if  I  had 
kept  it  on  the  chair,'  I  replied.  '  It  was  a  good  trial  of 
patience,  anyhow/  was  his  res^xjuse  to  the  laugh  that 
followed." 

The  students  remained  for  several  days,  and  had  a 
merry  time.  One  day,  after  some  pies  had  been  taken 
out  of  the  old-fashioned  brick  oven,  a  few  ashes  falling 
upon  one,  the  mother  asked  Eunice  to  get  them  off. 
Henry  offered  to  help,  and  respectfully  taking  the  pie 
from  her  hands  carried  it  into  the  garden,  where  he  and 
his  two  other  college  friends  ate  it  up.  "  There,  we  have 
cleared  the  plate  nicely,"  said  Henry  Ward,  as  he  handed 
it  back  to  the  mother. 

Dr.  Bullard  said  of  young  Beecher,  "  He's  smart.  K 
he  lives,  he'll  make  his  mark  in  the  world." 

The  next  winter,  January,  1.S32,  Henry  Ward  taught 
school  near  the  town  where  Eunice  was  teaching.  He 
asked,  "If  she  would  go  to  the  West  with  him  as  a  mis- 
sionary ? "  and  Avas  referred  to  her  parents.  Mrs.  Bul- 
lard  was  grieved;  but  Dr.  Dullard  was  angry,  and  said, 
"  Why,  you  are  a  couple  of  babies.  You  don't  know 
your  own  minds  yet,  and  won't  for  some  years  to  come." 
Young  Det'chcr  was  a  little  over  eighteen,  and  Miss 
Dullard  ten  months  older. 

About  this  time  Henry  earned  iive  dollars  for  giving  a 
temperance  lecture,  using  the  money  to  buy  for  his  future 
wife  the  unusual  love-gift  of  r)a.xter's  "  Saints'  Rest." 

Soon  after,  he  walked  to  Drattlebo rough,  Yt.,  fifty 
miles  each  way,  gave  a  lecture,  for  which  he  received 


UENRY    WATII)  BE  EC  HER.  229 

ten  dollars,  and  with  a  part  of  the  money  bought  an 
engagement-ring  for  Miss  Bullard,  which  was  also  her 
wedding-ring,  and  with  the  rest  the  works  of  Edmund 
Burke. 

Tliis  money  gave  him  great  satisfaction.  "  Oh,  that 
bill !  "  he  says,  "  How  it  warmed  me  and  invigorated 
me !  I  looked  at  it  before  going  to  sleep ;  I  examined 
my  pocket  the  next  morning,  to  be  sure  that  I  had  not 
dreamed  it.  How  I  pitied  the  j'^or  students,  who  had 
not,  I  well  knew,  ten  dollars  in  their  jjockets.  Still,  I 
tried  to  keep  down  pride  in  its  offensive  forms.  I  would 
not  be  lifted  up." 

After  he  had  bought  the  books,  he  says,  "  I  was  a  man 
that  owned  a  library !  I  became  conservative  and  frugal. 
Before,  I  had  spent  at  least  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  year 
for  knickkuacks;  but,  after  I  h;ul  founded  a  library,  I 
reformed  all  such  wastes,  and  every  penny  I  could  raise 
or  save  I  compelled  to  transform  itself  into  books ! " 
When  he  graduated,  he  owned  about  fifty  volumes. 

Dr.  Lyman  Beecher  having  left  Boston  to  become  the 
President  of  Lane  Theological  Seminary  at  Cincinnati, 
Ohio,  Henry  and  Charles  went  thither  to  study  theology. 
The  three  years  spent  there  were  full  of  ])atlietic,  and 
sometimes  comic,  incidents.  In  this,  at  tliat  time  far 
West,  the  fences  were  poor,  and  cattle  were  a[)t  to  stray 
at  Avill  over  flower-beds  and  across  the  gardens.  One 
day  Henry  found  a  strange  cow  lying  down  on  the  barn 
floor.  He  quickly  drove  her  out,  cliased  her  down  the 
street,  and,  liot  and  tired,  came  to  tlie  liouse  and  thri'W 
himself  on  tlie  sofa. 

"  There,  I  guess  I  have  tauglit  one  old  cow  to  know 
where  she  belongs,"  he  remarked  to  his  father. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  growing  ex- 


230  HENRY   WAliD  BEECHEB. 

cited.  "  Well,  you  have  done  it.  I  have  just  bought 
that  cow,  and  had  to  wade  the  Ohio  River  twice  to  get 
her  home  ;  and,  after  I  have  got  her  safely  into  the  barn, 
you  have  turned  her  out.  You  have  done  it,  and  no  mis- 
take."    And  the  cow  was  vigorously  hunted  up. 

During  all  these  years  affectionate  letters  were  sent  to 

Eunice  Bullard.      "  What  a  noble   creation  E is," 

young  Beecher  writes  in  his  journal.  "  I  could  have 
looked  through  ten  thousand  and  never  found  one 
so  every  way  suited  to  me.  How  dearly  do  I  love 
her ! " 

Some  of  this  time  was  darkened  by  doubt  and  disbe- 
lief;  but,  like  John  Bunyan,  after  about  two  years  of 
unsettled  condition  of  mind,  peace  was  assured.  "  It 
came  to  me,"  he  says,  "  like  the  bursting  of  spring.  It 
was  as  if  yesterday  there  was  not  a  bird  to  be  seen  or 
heard,  and  as  if  to-day  the  woods  were  full  of  singing 
birds.  There  rose  up  before  me  a  view  of  Jesus  as  the 
Saviour  of  sinners,  —  not  of  saints,  but  of  sinners  uncon- 
verted, before  they  were  any  better,  —  because  they  were 
so  bad  and  needed  so  much ;  and  that  view  has  never 
gone  from  me.  .  .  .  Never  for  a  single  moment  have  I 
doubted  the  power  of  Christ's  love  to  save  me,  any  more 
than  I  have  doubted  the  existence  in  the  heaven  of  the 
sun  by  day  and  the  moon  by  night." 

Tlie  second  Mrs.  Beecher  had  died,  triumphing  in  her 
faith.  Dr.  Beecher,  tried  for  heresy,  was  fighting  theo- 
logical battles,  which  his  son  Henry  learned  to  abhor. 

"  I  see  no  benefit  in  a  controversy,"  he  wrote.  "  It 
will  be  a  fierce  technical  dispute  about  propositions,  at 
the  expense  in  the  churches  of  vital  godliness.  .  .  . 
Others  may  blow  the  bellows,  and  turn  the  doctrines  in 
the  fire,  and  lay  them  on  the  anvil  of  controversy,  and 


HENRY    WARD   BE  EC  HER.  231 

beat  them  with  all  sorts  of  hammers  into  all  sorts  of 
shapes;  but  I  shall  busy  myself  with  ushiy  the  sword 
of  the  Lord,  uot  in  forging  it." 

Pro-slavery  riots  had  begiin,  aud  the  printing-press  of 
James  G.  Birney  was  destroyed  by  a  mob  of  Kentucky 
slaveholders.  Young  Beecher  was  sworn  in  as  a  special 
constable,  and  for  several  nights,  Avell  armed,  patrolled 
the  streets  with  others,  to  protect  the  colored  people. 
He  was  learning  bravery  early,  and  he  had  need  of  it 
through  life. 

Mr.  lieecher  graduated  in  1837  from  Lane  Seminary, 
and  through  the  influence  of  a  Yankee  woman,  jVtartha 
Sawyer,  was  asked  to  go  to  Lawrencebvirg,  Ind.,  to 
preach.  "  There  was  a  church  in  that  place,"  says  Mr. 
Beecher,  "  composed  of  about  twenty  members,  of  which 
she  was  the  factotum.  She  collected  the  money,  she 
was  the  treasurer,  she  Avas  the  manager,  slie  was  the 
trustee,  she  was  the  everything  of  that  church." 

There  were  about  fifteen  hundred  persons  in  the  little 
town,  situated  at  the  jimction  of  the  Ohio  and  Miami 
Kivers.  There  were  four  big  distilleries  in  the  place, 
and  a  steamboat  load  of  liquor  Avas  carried  away  from 
it  every  day. 

"  Wlien  I  went  there  and  entered  upon  my  vocation  of 
preaching,"  says  Mr.  Beecher,  "  I  found  a  church,  occu- 
pying a  little  brick  building,  with  nineteen  or  twenty 
members.  There  was  one  man,  and  the  rest  were  women. 
With  the  exception  of  two  persons,  there  was  not  one  of 
them  who  Avas  not  obliged  to  gain  a  liveliliood  by  the 
labor  of  the  liands.  So  you  Avill  inulerstand  how  very 
poor  they  Avere.  .  .  . 

'•'  I  Avas  sexton  in  the  church.  There  Avere  no  lamps 
there,  so  I  went  and  bouglit  some  and  filled  them  and  lit 


232  IIENltY    WARD   BEECH KR. 

them.  1  swept  the  church,  and  lighted  my  own  fires.  I 
did  not  ring  the  bell  because  there  was  none.  I  opened 
the  church  before  every  meeting,  and  shut  and  locked  it 
after  every  meeting.  I  took  care  of  everything  in  the 
church." 

The  salary  was  to  be  f300  —  it  was  raised  from 
$250 — of  wliich  the  Home  Missionary  Society  was  to 
give  $150. 

His  friends  in  Cincinnati  opposed  his  going  to  so  small 
a  field ;  but  he  carried  out  the  advice  which  he  gave 
years  afterward  to  theological  students :  "  Doii't  haiifj 
round  idle,  waiting  for  a  good  offer.  Enter  the  first 
field  God  opens  for  you.  If  he  needs  you  in  a  larger 
one,  he  will  open  the  gate  for  you  to  enter." 

Young  Beecher,  having  waited  nearly  seven  years  to 
claim  his  bride,  —  he  was  now  but  twenty -four,  —  wrote 
to  Miss  Bullard  that  lie  would  be  ready  for  the  marriage 
Aug.  3.  Arriving  at  her  home  on  the  evening  of  «July 
29,  he  picked  over  and  stoned  with  her  the  raisins  for 
the  wedding-cake,  beat  the  eggs,  and  in  every  way  helped 
on  the  joyful  event.  At  the  hour  chosen  for  the  cere- 
mony, a  heavy  thunder-storm  came  on.  The  bride  deter- 
mined to  wait;  and  an  hour  after  the  appointed  time, 
under  a  brilliant  rainbow,  they  were  married,  and  started 
for  their  missionary  labors  in  tlie  West. 

Tliey  boarded  for  a  sliort  time,  and  then  decided  to  go 
to  housekeeping.  Mrs.  Beecher,  during  the  absence  of 
her  husband  at  a  synodical  meeting,  found  two  rooms 
over  a  stable,  at  a  rental  of  forty  dollars  per  year.  She 
w(!nt  to  Cincinnati  by  boat,  to  the  liome  of  the  Beechers, 
and  received,  to  hel)>  in  furnishing  tlieso  rooms,  a  bed- 
stead, a  stove,  .some  sheets  and  pillow-cases,  and  a  piece 
of  carpet.     Through  tlie  sale  of  her  cloak  for  thirty  dol- 


HENRY    WARD  BEECUER.  233 

lars,  she  obtained  a  husk  mattress,  a  table,  wash-tubs, 
and  groceries. 

On  Mr.  Beecher's  return  he  helped  scrub  the  floors  — • 
the  landlord  objected  to  their  being  painted,  as  it  would 
injure  the  wood  ! 

Mrs.  Beecher  found  in  the  back  yard  a  broken  table 
and  shelves,  which  had  been  thrown  away  as  useless ;  and 
covering  the  former  witli  tlie  skirts  of  Mr.  Beecher's  old 
coat,  it  became  quite  an  elegant  writing-table  for  the 
young  minister.  The  flour-barrel  and  sugar-barrel  — 
sent  in  by  friends  —  were  curtained  from  the  rest  of  the 
room  by  a  piece  of  four-cent  calico. 

Mrs.  Beecher  helped  support  the  family  by  taking  in 
sewing  and  keeping  boarders.  Mr.  Beecher  soon  became 
the  idol  of  his  people.  Mr.  John  R.  Howard,  in  his  life 
of  Beecher,  repeats  these  words  of  the  famous  preacher : 
"  There  lived  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  in  Law- 
renceburg,  a  very  profane  man  who  was  counted  ugly.  I 
understood  that  he  had  said  some  very  bitter  things  of 
me.  I  went  right  over  to  his  store,  and  sat  down  on  the 
counter  to  talk  witli  him.  I  happened  in  often — day 
in  and  day  out.  My  errand  was  to  make  him  like  me. 
I  did  make  him  like  me,  — and  all  the  children  too  ;  and 
when  I  left,  two  or  three  years  later,  it  was  his  house 
that  was  opened  to  me  and  all  my  family  for  the  Aveek 
after  I  gave  up  my  room.  And  to  the  day  of  his  death, 
I  do  not  believe  the  old  man  could  mention  my  name 
without  crying." 

"  Once,"  says  a  brother  minister,  "  lie  called  to  a  poor 
German  emigrant  woman  that  if  she  would  bring  him 
her  clothes-line,  he  would  show  her  how  to  get  her  win- 
ter's supply  of  fuel.  She  brought  it,  and  he  tied  a  stone 
to  one  end,  and  flinging  it  out  from  the  shore  over  the 


234  HENRY   WARD   BEECH ER. 

logs,  would  draw  them  in.  In  a  little  while  their  com- 
bined eiTorts  had  brought  in  a  dray-load." 

Mr.  Beecher  began  his  work  modestly :  "  I  neter  ex- 
pected that  I  could  accomplish  much,"  he  said.  "I 
merely  went  to  work  with  the  feeling :  *  I  will  do  as  well 
as  I  can,  and  I  will  stick  to  it,  if  tlie  Lord  })leases,  and 
fight  his  battle  the  best  way  I  know  how.'  And  I  was 
thankful  as  I  could  be.  Nobody  ever  sent  me  a  spare- 
rib  that  I  did  not  tliank  God  for  the  kindness  which  was 

shown  me.     I  recollect  when  Judge gave  me  liis 

cast-off  clothing,  I  felt  that  I  was  sumptuously  clothed. 
I  wore  old  coats  and  second-hand  shirts  for  two  or  three 
years,  and  I  was  not  above  it,  either,  although  sometimes, 
as  I  was  physically  a  somewhat  well-develoi)e(l  man,  and 
the  judge  was  thin  and  his  legs  were  slim,  they  were 
rather  a  tight  fit." 

"At  first,"  he  says,  "I  preached  some  theology.  .  .  . 
But  my  horizon  grew  larger  and  larger  in  that  one  idea 
of  Christ.  .  .  .  After  I  had  gone  through  two  or  three 
revivals  of  religion,  when  I  looked  around,  he  was  all 
in  all.     And  my  whole  ministry  sprang  out  of  that." 

After  two  years  at  Lawrenceburg,  Mr.  Beecher  was 
called  to  the  Second  Presbyterian  Cluu-chof  Indianapolis, 
then  a  place  of  four  thousand  inhabitants,  with  a  salary 
of  six  hundred  dollars.  He  declined  the  call  twice,  but 
finally,  laying  the  matter  before  the  Synod,  was  con- 
strained to  accept. 

Here,  as  at  Lawrenceburg,  the  church  was  filled  to 
overflowing  to  hear  the  young,  original,  earnest  i)reacher. 
During  liis  ministry  of  eight  years  at  Indianapolis,  there 
were  three  seasons  of  revival.  In  the  spring  of  1842 
about  one  hundred  persons  joined  the  cliurch.  One 
spring  Mr.   Beecher  preached  for  seventy  consecutive 


HENRT   WARD  BEECHEE.  235 

nights.  He  loved  to  recall  those  days.  He  said,  "Talk 
of  a  young  mother's  feelings  over  her  first  babe  —  what 
is  that  compared  with  the  solemnity,  the  enthusiasm,  the 
impetuosity  of  gratitude,  of  humility,  of  singing  glad- 
ness, with  which  a  young  pastor  greets  the  incoming  of 
his  first  revival  ?  He  stands  upon  the  shore  to  see  the 
tide  come  in !  It  is  the  movement  of  the  infinite,  ethe- 
real tide !  It  is  from  the  other  world !  There  is  no 
color  like  heart  color.  The  homeliest  things  dipped  in 
that  forever  after  glow  with  celestial  hues." 

Other  churches  besides  his  own  were  blessed  with  his 
ministrations.  He  says,  "  For  eight  or  ten  years  I  la- 
bored for  the  poor  and  needy,  in  cabins,  in  camp-meet- 
ings, through  woods,  up  and  down,  sometimes  riding  two 
days  to  meet  my  appointments.  I  had  no  books  but  my 
Bible ;  and  I  went  from  one  to  the  other  —  from  the  Bible 
to  men,  and  from  men  to  the  Bible." 

Yet  when  he  could  be  at  home  he  was  a  diligent  reader 
of  other  books,  —  the  sermons  of  Jonathan  Edwards,  of 
Isaac  Barrow,  and  of  Robert  South.  Ho  pored  over 
Loudon's  Encyclopaedias  of  Horticulture,  Agriculture, 
and  Architecture.  He  became  the  editor  of  the  hidiana 
Farmer  and  Gardener. 

He  loved  to  work  among  flowers  and  raise  vegetables, 
which  he  often  took  to  market  before  daylight.  He  be- 
lieved in  manual  labor.  He  painted  his  own  house,  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  bring  his  groceries  home  in  a  wheel- 
barrow. He  said :  "  It  is  my  deliberate  conviction  that 
physical  labor  is  indispensable  to  intellectual  and  moral 
health." 

He  was  as  fearless  as  he  was  industrious.  One  man 
had  taken  offence  at  Mr.  Beecher's  plain-speaking  about 
some  of  his  brutal  acts.     He  stationed  himself  on  the 


236  HENRY    WARD  B  EEC  HER. 

liotel  steps,  pistol  in  hand,  to  meet  the  pastor  as  he 
shonkl  return  from  the  post-office. 

"  Did  you  say  thus  in  your  sermon  yesterday  ?  "  asked 
the  man. 

"  I  did,"  was  the  reply. 

"Did  you  intend  those  remarks  for  me,  or  were  you 
meaning  me  ?  " 

*'  I  most  certainly  did. 

"  Then,"  —  with  an  oath,  "  take  it  back  right  here,  or 
I'll  shoot  you  on  the  spot." 

"  Shoot  away,"  said  Mr.  Beecher,  looking  the  man 
squarely  in  the  face,  and  passed  on.  The  man  followed 
for  a  few  steps,  and  then  went  down  a  side  street. 

Although  one  of  Mr.  Beecher 's  elders  had  said,  "If  an 
Abolitionist  comes  here,  I  will  head  a  mob  and  })ut  him 
down,"  the  brave  preacher  sat  on  the  platform  at  an 
Abolitionist  meeting,  and  in  his  pulpit  preached  so  ear- 
nestly against  slavery  that  it  was  predicted  that  his  in- 
fluence for  all  time  would  be  destroyed.  He  lectured  as 
earnestly  against  intemperance  and  other  sins ;  and  these 
"  Lectures  to  Young  Men  "  became  his  first  volume,  dedi- 
cated to  his  father.  The  book  had  a  wide  reading,  both 
in  England  and  America. 

While  at  Indianapolis  his  little  son  George  died. 
Years  later  he  said,  "  I  remember,  to-night,  as  well  as  I 
did  at  the  time,  the  night  that  my  eldest  son  died.  That 
was  my  first  great  sorrow.  ...  It  was  in  March,  and 
there  had  just  come  up  a  great  storm,  and  all  the  ground 
was  covered  witli  snow. 

"  We  went  down  to  the  graveyard  with  little  Georgie, 
and  waded  through  it  in  the  snow.  I  got  out  of  the 
carriage  and  took  the  little  coffin  in  my  arms,  and 
walked  knee-deep  to  the  side  of  the  grave,  and  looking 


HENRY   WARD  BEECHER.  237 

in  I  saw  the  winter  down  at  the  very  bottom  of  it.  .  .  . 
If  I  shouhl  live  a  thousand  years  I  coukl  not  help  shiv- 
ering every  time  I  thought  of  it."' 

Mr.  Beecher  loved  the  West,  and  expected  to  remain 
permanently  in  it ;  but  the  East  had  learned  of  his  ear- 
nestness and  his  eloquence,  and  called  him  to  ]>rooklyn. 
For  a  long  time  be  refused  to  consider  it ;  but  his  wife 
having  suffered  much  from  chills  and  fever,  he  finally 
accepted  the  call  to  the  newly  organized  Plymouth 
Church,  Avith  twenty-one  members,  in  the  fall  of  1847,  at 
a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  In  two  years  the 
membership  had  grown  to  over  four  hundred,  and  a  new 
church  had  been  built  —  the  other  having  been  badly 
damaged  by  fire  — at  a  cost  of  $30,000. 

A  month  after  Mr.  Beecher's  arrival  in  Brooklyn,  his 
little  girl,  "  Caty."  died,  and  began,  as  h*e  says,  ''  her 
quiet  march  toward  the  once-opened  gate,  to  rejoin  the 
brother." 

From  this  time  onward  till  Mr.  Beecher's  death  in 
1887,  for  forty  years,  Plymouth  ('hurch  became  the  cen- 
tre of  almost  unparalleled  influence.  Dr.  Barrows  says 
with  truth,  "It  is  probable  that,  except  Westminster 
Abbey,  no  other  church  of  English-speaking  nations  has 
in  this  century  been  visited  by  so  numy  men  and  women 
of  renown." 

The  church,  accommodating  three  thousand  jiersons. 
was  year  by  year  crowded  to  repletion,  often  as  many 
going  away  as  could  find  standing-room  witliin.  Every- 
body wanted  to  hear  the  most  eloquent  pulpit  orator  in 
America. 

When  Mr.  Beecher  first  came  to  l^lymouth  Churcli, 
some  said  he  woidd  not  please  the  cultivated  East,  but 
his  earnestness  soon  satisfied  all  cavillers.     He  had  one 


238  HENRY   WARD   BEECUER. 

message,  as  he  said,  "  The  love  of  Christ  to  men.  This, 
to  me,  was  a  burning  reality.  .  .  .  Consequently  I  went 
into  this  work  witli  all  my  soul,  preaching  night  and 
day." 

The  slavery  question  had  now  come  to  be  the  foremost 
question  among  the  people.  By  the  Missouri  Compro- 
mise of  1821,  slavery  was  not  to  extend  north  beyond 
latitude  36°  30'.  When,  in  1849,  California  asked  ad- 
mittance to  the  Union  as  a  free  State,  the  South,  feeling 
that  the  balance  of  power  would  be  on  the  side  of  free- 
dom, bitterly  opposed  it.  Henry  Clay,  the  great  com- 
promiser, brought  forward  his  "  Omnibus  Bill  "  in  ISoO, 
the  principal  features  of  which  were  that  California 
should  be  a  f r«e  State,  and  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  should 
be  more  stringent,  so  that  Southerners  might  reclaim 
slaves  in  the  Northern  States,  and  take  them  back  to 
bondage,  and  it  should  be  the  duty  of  Northerners  to 
help  them.  President  Millard  Fillmore  signed  these 
measures. 

Mr.  Beeeher  wrote  for  the  New  York  Independent  a 
three-column  article, entitled,  "Shall  We  Com])romise  ?" 
The  dying  John  C.  Calhoun  had  it  read  twice  to  liim. 
"  The  man  who  says  that  is  right,"  he  repeated.  "  There 
is  no  alternative.     It  is  liberty  or  slavery." 

When  Daniel  Webster,  in  his  fatal  sjioech  of  ]March  7, 
1850,  favored  compromise,  "  Then  it  was  that  1  flamed," 
said  Mr.  Beeeher,  and  from  that  time  till  the  Civil  War 
was  over  he  was  at  a  white  heat. 

When  Wendell  Pliillips  Avas  denied  a  place  to  speak 
because  he  was  an  Abolitionist,  and  no  one  dared  to  rent 
a  hall  for  him  through  fear  of  a  mob,  Henry  Ward 
Beeeher  opened  Plymouth  puljnt.  He  went  to  every 
trustee   for   his   consent.      If   the    man   hesitated,    Mr. 


HENRY   WARD   BEECnER.  239 

Beecher  said,  "  You  and  I  will  break  if  you  don't  give 
me  this  permission,"  and  he  signed. 

A  great  audience  assembled,  and  men  were  ready  with 
revolvers  to  use  them  if  the  mob  molested  the  speaker. 

Mr.  Beecher  would  not  ride  in  omnibuses  where  colored 
persons  Avere  refused.  He  invited  Frederick  Douglass 
to  sit  beside  him  on  the  platform  in  Plymoutli  Church 
—  he  would  not  have  a  pnl])it,  which  half  hid  the  pastor 
from  his  people.  Mr.  Beecher's  sister,  Mrs.  Stowe,  had 
published  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  as  a  serial  in  1851,  and 
in  book  form  in  1852,  which  electrified  the  North  and 
infuriated  the  South. 

When  Stephen  A.  Douglas  proposed  the  repeal  of  the 
Missouri  Compromise,  which  was  carried  in  1854,  Kan- 
sas became  a  battle-ground  between  slaveholders  and 
lovers  of  freedom.  Houses  were  burned,  men  were  nuir- 
dered,  and  all  the  horrors  of  civil  war  continued  for  four 
years.  Mr.  Beecher's  voice  and  pen  were  never  silent : 
"  Peace  in  Kansas,"  he  said,  '•  means  peace  everywhere  ; 
war  there  will  be  war  all  ov^r  the  land.  .  .  .  What  is 
done  must  be  done  quickly.  Funds  must  be  freely  given, 
arras  must  be  had,  even  if  bought  at  the  jn-ice  mentioned 
by  our  Saviour :  *  He  that  hath  no  sword,  let  him  sell  liis 
garment  and  buy  one.'  " 

He  took  U])  collections  in  I'lymouth  Church  and  else- 
Avhere  for  Sharp's  rifles,  and  for  IJibles  as  well.  Some 
of  the  rifles  were  sent,  it  is  said,  in  boxes  marked  liibles, 
though  without  his  knowledge,  and  were  therefore  called 
"  Beecher's  Bibles." 

When  Jolui  C.  Fremont  was  the  first  nominee  of  the 
Republicans  in  1856,  Mr.  Beecher,  with  the  liearty  con- 
currence of  his  church,  spoke  for  the  party  two  or  three 
times  a  week  all  tlirough  the  State  of  New  York.     An 


240  HENRY    WARD  BEECHER. 

amusing  incident  occurred  at  Rome,  N.Y.,  which  illus- 
trated Keecher's  graphic  utterance. 

He  said:  '"My  friends,  in  this  great  campaign  there 
are  but  two  sides,  and  we  must  range  ourselves  upon  one 
side  or  the  other ;  there  is  no  middle  ground  for  any  of 
us.  On  the  one  side  is  Buchanan,  with  the  black  shield 
of  slavery,  and  upon  the  other  is  Fremont,  with  the 
white  banner  of  liberty,  and  with  one  or  the  other  of 
these  two  you  must  take  your  stand ;  but  who  is  this  that 
I  see  crawling  under  the  fence  ?  Oh,  that  is  Millard 
Fillmore."  Immediately  a  little  fellow  in  the  front 
row  jumped  up,  looked  under  the  chairs,  and  shouted 
out,  "  Where  is  he  ?  "  The  people  laughed  so  heartily, 
that  the  lad  got  up  and  left  the  hall. 

Mr.  Beecher  was  always  quick  at  repartee,  either  in 
conversation  or  address.  Before  an  audience  of  ten 
thousand  people  in  Chicago,  he  Avas  lecturing  on  "  Com- 
munism," and  said,  "  The  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voice 
of  God."  A  man  in  the  gallery  shouted,  "  The  voice  of 
the  people  is  the  voice  of  a  fool,"  Beecher  replied 
simply,  "  I  said  the  voice  of  the  people,  not  the  voice  of 
one  man." 

In  one  of  his  anti-slavery  speeches  he  said  "  that  it 
was  a  penitentiary  offence  to  teach  a  slave."  A  man  in 
the  corner  of  the  gallery  exclaimed,  "  It's  a  lie  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Beecher,  "  I  shall  not  argue  with  the 
gentleman  in  the  corner,  as  doubtless  he  has  been  there 
and  ought  to  know." 

Very  stirring  scenes  were  witnessed  in  these  times. 
Two  Edmonson  sisters,  of  liglit  complexion,  whose 
mother  was  born  a  slave,  but  whose  father  was  free, 
had  been  brought  up  in  Washington.  Tlie  former  owner 
of  the  mother,  finding  that  they  were  uncommonly  at- 


HENRY   WARD   BEECHER.  241 

tractive,  determined  to  send  tlieni  to  New  Orl(\ans  to  be 
sold  in  the  slave  market.  The  girls  tried  to  escape,  but 
could  not. 

Their  heart-broken  father  went  to  New  York  to  see  if 
he  could  raise  the  two  thousand  dollars  demanded  for 
their  purchase.  He  was  advised  to  see  Mr.  I>eecher. 
He  reached  his  home  in  Brooklyn ;  but  having  met  many 
rebuffs,  he  feared  to  ring  the  bell,  and  sat  down  on  the 
steps,  while  tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks.  Mr.  Beecher 
finally  heard  his  story  and  arranged  for  a  meeting  at  the 
Broadway  Tabernacle.  He  spoke  with  wonderful  power, 
as  did  also  the  Eev.  Dr.  John  Dowling,  the  father  of 
the  brilliant  Rev.  Dr.  George  Thomas  Dowling.  The 
sum  of  twenty -two  hundred  dollars  was  raised,  and  the 
girls  were  set  free. 

Mr.  Beecher  said,  "I  think  that  of  all  the  meetings 
that  I  have  attended  in  my  life,  for  a  panic  of  sympathy 
I  never  saw  one  that  surpassed  that.  I  have  seen  a 
great  many  in  my  day." 

Mrs.  Stowe  became  responsible  for  the  education  of  the 
sisters,  and  later  raised  enough  money  to  purchase  the 
freedom  of  the  mother  and  two  other  children. 

Among  several  wlio  were  bought  for  liberty  "  on  the 
auction-block  of  Plymouth  pulpit,"  was  "  Pinky,"  a  little 
colored  girl.  ''She  was  bought  and  overbought,"  said 
Mr.  Beecher.  "  The  rain  never  fell  faster  than  the  tears 
fell  from  many  that  were  here."  Rose  Terry  Cooke  threw 
her  ring  into  tlie  contribution  box,  and  Mr.  Px'echer  put 
it  on  the  child's  hand  and  told  licr  "it  was  lier  freedom- 
ring."  Her  expression  was  such  a  happy  one  tliat 
Eastman  Johnson,  the  artist,  painted  her  on  canvas, 
looking  at  her  freedom-ring.  Later  she  was  sent  for  a 
year   to    Lincoln    University  at  Washington,  and   went 


242  UENRY   WARD   BEECTIER. 

back  to  lier  own  people  to  become  a  teacher  and  a  mis- 
sionary among  them. 

In  these  years  of  incessant  toil,  Mr.  ]>eecher's  liome 
was  gladdened  by  the  birth  of  twin  boys,  Alfred  and 
Arthur,  in  December,  1852.  They  both  died  on  the 
fourtli  of  July  in  the  following  year,  and  were  buried  in 
one  grave.  Mr.  ]>eecher  could  not  liear  their  names 
mentioned  for  years,  so  overwhelming  was  the  loss  to 
the  man  who  idolized  children. 

In  the  autumn  of  1854,  by  the  aid  of  friends,  he  pur- 
chased a  farm  of  nearly  one  hundred  acres  at  Lenox, 
Berkshire  County,  Mass.  He  was  a  devoted  lover  of 
trees.  Speaking  of  a  large  elm,  he  said,  "  It  was  with  a 
feeling  of  awe  that  we  looked  up  into  its  face ;  and  when 
I  whispered  to  myself,  *  This  is  mine,'  there  was  a 
shrinking,  as  if  there  were  sacrilege  in  the  very  thouglit 
of  property  in  such  a  creature  of  God  as  this  cathedi-al- 
topped  tree !  Does  a  man  bare  his  head  in  some  old 
church  ?  So  did  I,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  this  regal 
tree,  and  looking  up  into  that  completed  glory  at  whicli 
three  hundred  years  have  been  at  work  with  noiseless 
fingers  !  .  .  .  Thou  belongest  to  no  man's  hand,  but  to 
all  men's  eyes  that  do  love  beauty,  and  that  have  learned 
through  beauty  to  behold  God  !  Stand,  then,  in  tldne 
own  beauty  and  grandeur  !  I  shall  be  a  lover  and  a  pro- 
tector, to  keep  drought  from  thy  roots  and  the  age  from 
thy  trunk." 

Though  he  said,  "The  chief  use  of  a  farm  is  to  lie 
down  upon,"  knowing  as  all  brain  workers  know,  how 
restful  it  is  to  stretch  one's  self  upon  the  ground,  yet  he 
always  cultivated  flowers  and  vegetables,  and  made  the 
whole  farm  a  thing  of  beauty 

He  felt  that  he  owed  much  to  Ruskin's  works.     "The 


HENRY   WARD  BEECHER.  243 

sky,  the  earth,  and  the  waters  are  no  longer  what  they 
were  to  us.  We  have  learned  a  language  and  come  to  a 
sympathy  in  tbem  more  tlirough  the  instrumentality  of 
liuskin's  works  than  by  all  other  instrumentalities  on 
earth,  excepting,  always,  the  nature  which  my  mother 
gave  me  —  sainted  he  her  name." 

When  the  slavery  struggles  had  culminated  in  war, 
and  the  South  had  fired  the  first  gun  at  Fort  Sumter, 
April  12,  1861,  Beecher's  heart  was  aflame.  In  his 
pulpit  he  said,  "  Give  me  war  redder  tlian  blood  and 
fiercer  than  fire,  if  this  terrific  infliction  is  necessary 
that  I  may  maintain  my  faith  in  God,  in  human  liberty, 
my  faith  of  the  fathers  in  the  instruments  of  liberty,  my 
faith  in  this  land  as  the  appointed  abode  and  chosen 
refuge  of  liberty  for  all  the  earth ! " 

When  his  eldest  son  —  he  had  already  enlisted  —  said, 
"Father,  may  I  enlist?"  tlie  instant  reply  was,  "If  you 
don't,  I'll  disown  you." 

After  helping  to  fit  out  two  regiments,  Mr.  Reedier 
took  upon  himself  the  entire  e(pii})ping  of  a  new  one, 
called  "  The  Long  Island  Volunteers,"  afterwards  the 
Sixty-seventh  New  York. 

Plymouth  Church  parlors  became  a  workshop,  where, 
under  Mrs.  Beecher's  direction,  women  niad(>  articles  for 
the  soldiers  at  the  front.  By  personal  solicitation  large 
sums  were  raised  from  families  and  merchants.  Mr. 
I^eecher  told  his  wife  to  use  all  his  salary  except  the 
smallest  amount  necessary  for  family  expenses.  He 
made  patriotic  addresses  which  were  read  and  talked 
about  the  country  over.  "  It  is  ]>robable."  said  tlie  well- 
known  journalist,  Frederick  Hudson,  "that  there  is  not 
another  man  in  the  United  States  who  is  as  much  heard 
and  read  as  Heniy  Ward  Beecher,  unless  the  other  man 
is  Wendell  Phillips." 


244  HENRY   WARD  liEECHER. 

Tl»e  liist  luiuiversary  Sunday  of  the  attack  on  Fort 
Sumter,  Henry  Ward  l^eeeher  said,  "  We  will  give  every 
dollar  that  we  are  worth,  every  child  that  we  have,  and 
our  own  selves;  we  will  bring  all  that  we  are  and  all  that 
we  have,  and  offer  them  up  freely — but  this  country 
shall  be  one  and  undivided.  We  will  have  one  Constitu- 
tion and  one  liberty,  and  that  universal.  The  Atlantic 
sliall  sound  it,  and  the  Pacific  shall  ectho  it  back,  deep 
answering  to  deep,  aud  it  shall  reverberate  from  the 
Lakes  on  the  North  to  the  unfrozen  Gulf  on  the  South  — 
*  One  nation,  one  constitution,  one  starry  banner!'  Hear 
it,  England  I — one  country,  and  indivisible;  one  hope; 
one  baptism;  one  (!onstituti(m  ;  one  government;  one 
nation ;  one  countr}- ;  one  people  —  cost  what  it  may,  we 
will  have  it !  " 

He  urged  immediate  and  universal  emancipation,  with 
all  the  fire  and  elocpience  of  his  nature.  He  became  the 
warm  friend  of  President  Lincoln,  with  whom  he  had 
many  confidential  conferences.  When  the  immortal 
Emancipation  Proclamation  was  issued,  declaring  that 
after  Jan.  1,  18G3,  the  slaves  "shall  be  thenceforward 
and  forever  free,"  Beecher  said  in  his  lecture-room  talk, 
Dec.  31 :  "  As  for  myself,  let  come  what  will  come,  I  care 
not.  God  may  peel  me  and  bark  me  and  strip  me  of  my 
leaves,  and  do  as  he  chooses  with  my  earthly  estate.  I 
have  lived  long  enough.  ...  I  have  uttered  some  words 
that  will  not  die,  because  they  are  incorj)orated  into  the 
lives  of  men  that  will  not  die." 

In  June,  1803,  worn  out  with  continuous  speaking,  Mr. 
Beecher  went  to  Elurope  with  Dr.  John  Kaymond.  then 
president  of  Vassar  College.  He  had  been  over  before, 
in  1850,  thirteen  years  previously.  He  travelled  in 
Switzerland,  Italy,  and  Germany,  and  at  the  request  of 


UENRY    WARD   BEECH ER.  245 

the  United  States  Minister,  talked  with  King  Leopokl 
of  Belgium,  a  wise  and  able  man,  about  American  affairs. 

The  king,  asking  Mr.  Beecher  what  he  thought  of  send- 
ing Maximilian  to  Mexico,  he  replied,  ''Your  Majesty, 
any  man  that  wants  to  sit  upon  a  throne  in  Mexico,  I 
would  advise  to  try  Vesuvius  first;  if  he  can  sit  there 
for  a  while,  then  he  might  go  and  try  it  in  Mexico." 
His  words  proved  true  for  the  unfortunate  Maximilian 
and  Carlotta. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  found  in  England  much  sym- 
pathy with  the  slave-holding  South,  and  a  disbelief  in 
the  ultimate  success  of  the  North,  and  continuance  of 
the  Union.  Going  to  Europe  for  rest,  he  did  not  intend 
to  speak,  but  was  finally  persuaded  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  win  friends  for  the  North,  so  that  England  should 
not  declare  for  the  Southern  Confederacy. 

The  first  meeting  was  held  at  Manchester,  Oct.  9, 18G3. 
The  streets  were  placarded  with  huge  posters  in  red  ink, 
and  threats  were  heard  on  every  side  that  the  speaker 
should  never  leave  Free  Trade  Hall  alive. 

As  soon  as  Beecher  began  to  speak,  there  were  hisses 
and  yells  l)y  the  mob,  so  tliat  not  a  word  could  be  heard. 
Standing  erect  before  the  howling  crowd,  he  said,  "  My 
friends,  we  will  hive  a  whole  night's  session,  but  we  will 
be  heard."  When  not  a  word  coidd  reach  the  ])eople, 
he  leaned  over  to  the  reporters  present,  and  said:  •'  Gen- 
tlemen, be  kind  enough  to  take  down  Avhat  I  say.  It 
will  be  in  sections,  but  I  will  have  it  connected  by  and 

by." 

Finally  by  courage  and  wit  and  ehxiuence  tlie  crowd 
was  subduf^l  and  won  over  to  the  speaker,  who  discussed 
tlie  dire  effects  of  slavery  \\\\o\\  the  manufactnring  inter- 
ests of  tlie  world,  and  stated  the  real  condition  of  Amer- 
ica in  her  struggle  between  slavery  and  liberty. 


246  IIENliV    WAIilJ   liEECIlER. 

He  said :  "If  tlie  day  shall  come  iu  one  year,  in  two 
years,  or  in  ten  years  hence,  when  the  old  stars  and 
stripes  shall  float  over  every  State  of  America;  if  the 
day  shall  come  when  that  wliich  was  the  accursed 
cause  of  this  dire  and  atrocious  war  —  slavery  —  shall  be 
done  away  with  ;  if  the  day  shall  come  when  througli 
all  the  Gulf  States  there  shall  be  liberty  of  speech,  as 
there  never  has  been  ;  when  there  shall  be  liberty  of  the 
press,  as  there  never  has  been  ;  when  men  shall  have  com- 
mon schools  to  send  their  children  to,  which  they  have 
never  liad  in  the  South  ...  it  will  be  worth  all  the 
dreadful  blood  and  tears  and  woe." 

Just  as  IJeecher  was  closing,  a  telegram  from  London 
was  read  that  "  Her  Majesty  has  to-night  caused  the 
'  broad  arrow  '  to  be  placed  on  the  rams  in  Mr.  Laird's 
yard  at  Birkenhead."  This  meant  the  stoppage  of  the 
ships  which  were  building  for  the  South,  to  destroy  our 
shipping  as  the  Alabama  had  done.  The  whole  audience 
rose  and  cheered,  men  waving  their  hats  and  women 
their  handkerchiefs  as  they  wept. 

So  moved  were  the  people  that  a  big  fellow  in  the  gal- 
lery, who  could  not  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Beecher,  cried 
out,  ''  Shake  my  umbrella,"  as  he  reached  it  down  to  the 
platform.  Mr.  JJeecher  did  as  requested.  "  By  Jocks  !  " 
said  the  man,  ''nobody  sha'n't  touch  that  umbrella 
again." 

On  Oct.  13  Boecher  spoke  to  an  immense  audience 
at  Glasgow,  telling  them  that  in  building  ships  to  destroy 
free  labor  in  America,  "  they  were  driving  nails  in  their 
own  coffins." 

Tlie  interruptions,  though  great  liere,  were  not  as  bad  as 
at  Manchester.  The  next  evening  he  spoke  to  a  packed 
house  at  Edinburgh,  being  lifted  over  the  people's  heads 


UENRY    WARD   BEECIIER.  247 

to  reacli  the  platform.  These  speeches  were  reported 
verbatim  all  over  England. 

On  Oct.  10  he  spoke  at  the  great  Philharmonic 
Hall  at  Liverpool,  at  that  time  the  headquarters  of 
Southern  sympathies.  The  meeting  was  a  perfect  bed- 
lam. "  Three  cheers  for  Jeff  Davis  "  were  given  every 
now  and  then,  with  cries  of  ''Turn  him  out! "  hisses  and 
yells,  till  Beecher  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  platform 
and  waited  for  a  calm.  For  three  hours,  sentence  by 
sentence,  his  voice  was  hurled  against  a  threatening, 
hooting  mob. 

Four  days  later  Henry  Ward  Beecher  spoke  to  a  dense 
crowd  in  Exeter  Hall,  London.  With  satire  and  pathos 
and  burning  eloquence,  he  spoke  like  one  inspired.  Dr. 
William  M.  Taylor,  of  the  Broadway  Tabernacle,  New 
York,  said,  "  I  believe  there  has  not  been  such  eloquence 
in  the  world  since  Demosthenes." 

Dr.  Lyman  Abbott  and  the  Rev.  S.  B.  Halliday,  in 
their  life  of  Mr.  Beecher,  say  with  truth,  that  '•'  he 
changed  the  public  sentiment,  and  so  the  political  course 
of  the  nation,  and  secured  and  cemented  an  alliance  be- 
tween the  mother  country  and  our  own  land,  which  needs 
no  treaties  to  give  it  expression,  which  has  been  gaining 
strength  ever  since,  and  which  no  demagogism  on  this 
side  of  the  water,  and  no  ignorance  and  prejudice  on  that, 
have  been  able  to  impair." 

The  physical  strain  while  in  England  was  great.  '•  I 
thought  at  times,"  he  says,  "that  I  slumld  certainly 
break  a  blood-vessel  or  liave  apo])lexy.  I  did  not  care  ; 
I  was  willing  to  die  as  ever  I  was,  when  hungr}'  and 
thirsty,  to  take  refreshment,  if  I  miglit  die  for  my 
country." 

Mr.  Beecher  on  his  return  was  welcomed  with  open 


248  HENRY    W'AIID   BE  EC  HER. 

arms  and  grateful  hearts  by  the  American  people. 
Great  receptions  were  given  him  at  the  Academy  of 
Music,  Brooklyn,  and  the  Academy  of  Music,  New 
York. 

When  the  heart-breaking  war  was  over,  and  General 
Lee  had  surrendered  to  General  Grant  under  the  apple- 
tree  at  Appomattox,  April  9,  18(55,  and  it  was  decided  to 
raise  over  Fort  Sumter,  April  14,  the  flag  that  had  been 
pulled  down  four  years  before,  the  great  preacher  and 
orator,  who  had  helped  to  save  the  Union,  wiis  asked  to 
deliver  the  address. 

When  Major-General  Eobert  Anderson  ran  up  the  flag, 
it  was  saluted  by  a  hundred  guns  from  Fort  Sumter  and 
by  a  national  salute  from  every  fort  that  had  lired  upon 
Sumter  at  the  beginning  of  the  war. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher's  address  was  masterly ;  a  review 
of  the  dreadful  war,  and  our  duties  in  the  future. 

That  very  niglit,  April  14,  180"),  ]*resident  Lincoln  was 
assassinated  by  the  actor,  J.  Wilkes  Booth.  Mr.  Beecher 
said  in  his  sermon  the  following  Sunday :  "  The  blow 
brought  not  a  sliarp  i)ang.  It  was  so  terrible  tliat  at  first 
it  stunned  sensibility.  .  .  .  Thei-e  was  a  piteous  help- 
lessness. Strong  nuMi  bowed  down  and  wept.  .  .  .  Men 
w^alked  for  days  as  if  a  corpse  lay  unburied  in  their 
dwellings.  There  was  nothing  else  to  think  of.  All 
business  was  laid  aside.  Pleasure  forgot  to  smile.  .  .  . 
Even  avarice  stood  still,  and  greed  was  strongly  moved 
to  generous  sympathy  and  universal  sorrow.  Rear  to 
his  name  monuments,  found  charitable  institutions,  and 
write  his  name  above  their  lintels ;  but  no  monument 
will  ever  e<pial  the  universal,  spontaneous,  and  sublime 
sorrow  that  in  a  moment  swept  down  lines  and  parties, 
and  covered  up  animosities,  and  in  an  hour  brought  a 


HENRY   WARD   B  EEC  HER.  249 

divided  people  into  unity  of  grief  and  indivisible  fellow- 
ship of  anguish." 

Beecher  took  an  active  part  in  the  reconstruction  and 
readmission  of  the  seceded  States,  urging  that  the  great- 
est leniency  be  shown,  now  that  they  had  surrendered ; 
opposed  the  hanging  of  Jefferson  Davis  ;  urged  the  right 
of  suffrage  for  th6  colored  people :  —  "It  is  always  inex- 
pedient and  foolish,"  he  said,  "  to  deny  a  man  his  natural 
rights,"  He  did  not  believe  that  the  freedmen  should 
be  cared  for  permanently  by  a  military  power  at  the 
South,  placed  there  by  the  North.  "We  are  to  educate 
the  negroes,  and  to  Christianly  educate  them.  We  are 
to  raise  them  in  intelligence  more  and  more,  until  they 
shall  be  able  to  prove  themselves  worthy  of  citizenship. 
For,  I  tell  you,  all  the  laws  in  the  world  cannot  bolster 
a  man  up  so  as  to  place  him  any  higher  than  his  own 
moral  worth  and  natural  forces  put  him." 

For  a  letter  stating  such  views  as  these,  written  to  the 
National  Convention  of  Soldiers  and  Sailors  held  at 
Cleveland,  O.,  in  tlie  autumn  of  18G6,  Mr.  IJeecher  was 
assailed  all  over  the  country.  "  The  rage  and  abuse  of 
excited  men,"  he  said,  "  I  have  too  long  been  used  to, 
now  to  1)6  surprised  or  daunted.  ...  I  stood  almost 
alone,  my  church,  in  my  absence,  full  of  excitement ;  all 
my  ministerial  brethren,  with  a  few  honorable  excep- 
tions, either  aloof  or  in  clamor  against  me  ;  well-uigli 
the  whole  religious  press  denouncing  me,  and  the  politi- 
cal press  furious." 

He  si)oke  boldly  against  the  corrupt  judges  in  New 
York  City  in  the  time  of  the  Tweed  dictatorsliip.  Years 
later  when  r)eecher  voted  and  spoke  for  Grover  Cleve- 
land for  the  presidency,  because  he  believed  a  change 
of  parties  wise  for  the  country  at  the  time,  on  account  of 


250  HENRY    WARD   BEECUER. 

"the  corruption  of  too  long  held  power,"  and  did  not 
trust  James  G.  Blaine,  the  opposing  candidate,  the  same 
denunciation  and  bitterness  were  shown ;  all  of  which 
proves  that  toleration  for  opinions  differing  from  our 
own  requires  a  veiy  high  type  of  character. 

Beecher's  liberal  views  in  theology  were  likewise  bit- 
terly antagonized.  The  truth  was  that  he  cared  little 
for  creeds,  believing  that  to  preach  Christ  as  the  Savi<tur 
of  the  world  was  the  paramount  and  vital  need  of  men. 
He  believed  the  theology  of  the  future  "would  be  far 
more  powerful  than  the  old  —  a  theology  of  hope,  and  of 
love,  which  shall  cast  out  fear."  He  felt  with  Whittier 
in  the  "  Eternal  Goodness,"  — 

"  Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things, 
And  tossed  by  storm  and  flood, 
To  one  fixed  trust  my  spirit  clings,  — 
I  know  that  God  is  good ! 

And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar: 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 

On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  wlicre  Ilis  islands  lift 

Tliero  frondcd  i)alms  in  air; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

His  sermons  were  translated  into  German,  French, 
Spanish,  and  Italian,  and  were  read  the  world  over ;  and 
men  and  women  grew  more  gentle  and  lovable  from  the 
reading. 

After  the  war  the  busy  life  went  on  as  busy  as  ever. 
One  volume  of  the  "  Life  of  Christ,"  rich  in  his  wonder- 
ful imagination  and   beauty  of  language,   was  written. 


HENRY    WARD  BEECllER.  251 

He  did  not  live  to  complete  the  second  volume.  His 
one  novel,  "Norwood,"  a  story  of  New  England,  was 
published  as  a  serial  in  the  New  York  Ledger  in  1867, 
Mr.  Bonner  giving  him  $25,000  for  it. 

In  1870,  having  resigned  the  editorship  of  the  In- 
dependent, Beecher  became  the  editor  of  the  Clivistian 
Union.  In  1872  he  gave  a  course  of  twelve  lectures 
on  "  Preaching  "  to  the  Divinity  School  of  Yale  College, 
Mr.  Henry  W.  Sage  of  Plymouth  Church  having  founded 
at  New  Haven  the  Lyman  Beecher  Lectureship  of 
Preaching. 

When  asked  by  Mr.  John  R.  Howard  if  he  knew  what 
he  should  say  at  these  lectures,  he  replied,  "  Yes ;  in  a 
way.  I  know  what  I  am  going  to  aim  at,  but  of  course 
I  don't  get  down  to  anything  specific.  I  brood  it,  and 
ponder  it,  and  dream  over  it,  and  pick  up  information 
about  one  point  and  another ;  but  if  ever  I  think  I  see 
the  plan  opening  up  to  me,  I  don't  dare  to  look  at  it 
or  put  it  down  on  paper.  If  I  once  write  a  tiling  out,  it 
is  almost  impossible  for  me  to  kindle  up  to  it  again.  I 
never  dare  nowadays  to  write  out  a  sermon  during  the 
week  ;  that  is  sure  to  kill  it.  I  have  to  think  around 
and  about  it,  get  it  generally  ready,  and  then  fime  it 
when  the  time  comes." 

Beecher  was  a  great  student  of  the  Bible,  retailing  it 
on  tlie  cars  as  lie  travelled  to  his  lecture  ap])()intiiients, 
and,  like  Emerson,  jotting  down  in  little  note-books 
thoughts  and  suggestions. 

He  })re])ared  his  Sunday  morning  sermon  in  an  hour 
and  a  half,  between  breakfast  and  tlie  time  of  service. 
Locked  into  Ids  room,  he  wrote  with  his  goose-quill  pen 
the  headings  and  a  few  illustrations.  Then  in  the  pid- 
pit  the  eloquent  words  came  pouring  from  his  lips,  born 


252  HENRY   WARD   liEECHER. 

of  the  time  and  place.  His  evening  sermon  he  prepared 
after  tea.  When  asked  how  he  was  able  to  do  so  much 
work,  he  said  it  was  partly  owing  to  a  good  constitution  ; 
"much,  also,  to  an  early  acquired  knowledge  of  how 
to  take  care  of  myself,  to  secure  invariably  a  full  meas- 
ure of  sleep,  to  regard  food  as  an  engineer  does  fuel  (to 
be  employed  economically,  and  entirely  with  reference 
to  the  work  to  be  done  by  the  machine)  ;  much  to  the 
habit  of  economizing  social  foi'ces,  and  not  wasting  in 
needless  conversation  and  pleasurable  hilarities  the  spirit 
that  would  carry  me  througli  many  days  of  necessary 
work ;  but,  above  all,  to  the  possession  of  a  hopeful  dis- 
position and  natural  courage,  to  sympathy  with  men,  and 
to  an  unfailing  trust  in  God  ;  so  that  I  have  always 
worked  for  the  love  of  working." 

He  never  used  stimulants  except  as  a  medicine.  He 
wrote  to  a  friend,  "  I  am  a  total  abstainer,  both  in  belief 
and  practice.  .  .  .  I  hold  that  no  man  in  healtli  weer/.s  or 
is  the  better  for  alcoholic  stimulants ;  that  great  good 
will  follow  to  the  whole  community  from  the  total  disuse 
of  them  as  articles  of  diet  or  luxury  ;  and  that  so  soon 
as  the  moral  sense  of  society  will  sustain  such  laws,  it 
will  be  wise  and  right  to  enact  prohibitory  liquor  laws. 
...  I  slionld  as  soon  think  of  offering  a  well  num  a 
dose  of  rhubarb  as  a  dose  of  brandy." 

Mr.  Heecher  was  an  earnest  advocate  of  woman  suf- 
frage as  well  as  temperance.  He  believed  in  equality  of 
l)rivilege  in  tlie  pulpit,  in  medicine,  everywhere,  though 
he  said,  "  People  may  talk  about  equality  of  tlu*  sexes ! 
.  .  .  The  silent  smile  of  a  sensible,  loving  woman  will 
vanquish  ten  men."  Of  woman,  he  said,  "  She  is  the 
right  hand  of  the  cliarities  of  the  church.  .  .  .  She  is 
not  only  permitted  in  tlie  great  orthodox  churches  of 


HENRY   WARD  BE  EC  HER.  253 

New  England  to  speak  in  meeting,  but  when  they  send 
her  abroad,  ordained  to  preach  the  gospel  to  the  heathen, 
there  she  is  permitted  to  preach  ;  and  when  they  come 
home,  women  may  still  teach  in  a  hall,  but  not  in  a 
church,  and  dear  old  men  there  are  yet  so  conservative 
that  they  are  reading  through  golden  spectacles  their 
Bibles,  and  saying  :  *'  T  suffer  not  a  woman  to  preach." 

Mr.  Beecher  found  his  recreation  from  hard  work  in 
his  love  of  country  life.  His  farm  at  Lenox,  Mass., 
proving  too  far  from  l^rooklyn,  he  bought,  in  1859, 
thirty -six  acres  at  Peekskill-on-the-Hudson,  and  named 
it  Boscobel.  The  old  farmhouse  was  said  to  have  been 
the  headquarters  of  General  Israel  Putnam  of  Kevolu- 
tionary  fame. 

He  watched  like  a  child  for  the  first  note  of  the  blue- 
bird and  robin,  for  the  first  arbutus,  anemone,  and  violet 
of  early  spring.  He  loved  roses  as  fondly  as  Professor 
Child  of  Harvard  College.  He  raised  hollyhocks,  dahlias, 
geraniums,  pansies,  lilies,  and  chrysanthemums.  He  said, 
"  The  wonder  is,  that  every  other  man  is  not  an  enthu- 
siast, and  in  the  month  of  June  a  gentle  fanatic.  Floral 
insanity  is  one  of  the  most  charming  infiictions  to  which 
man  is  heir." 

.  He  bought  trees  of  almost  every  variety,  chickens  of 
various  kinds,  Jersey  cows  and  honey-bees,  and  a  large 
family  of  dogs,  —  a  St.  Bernard,  a  mastiff,  an  Eskimo,  a 
terrier,  and  others. 

He  once  said,  ''  If  the  dog  isn't  good  for  anything 
else,  it  is  good  for  you  to  love,  and  tliat  is  a  good  deal." 
Speaking  of  those  at  Peekskill,  he  said.  "They  are  prac- 
tically good  for  nothing,  but  I  sometimes  think  tliey  are 
worth  more  to  me  than  the  whole  place." 

He  used  to  say  that  he  felt  really  sorry  that  his  dog 


254  UENRY   WAUD  B  EEC  HER. 

Tommy  could  not  talk.  "  If  ever  there  was  a  dog  that 
was  distressed  to  think  that  he  could  not  talk,  that  dog 
is.  I  sit  by  him  on  the  bank,  of  a  summer  evening,  and 
I  say,  '  Tommy,  I  am  sorry  for  you  ; '  and  he  whines,  as 
much  as  to  say,  '  So  am  I.'  I  say,  '  Tommy,  I  should 
like  to  tell  you  a  great  many  things  that  you  are  worthy 
of  knowing ; '  and  I  do  not  know  which  is  the  most 
puzzled,  he  or  I  —  I  to  get  any  idea  into  his  head,  or  he 
to  get  any  out  of  mine." 

Mr,  Beecher  finally  built  a  beautiful  liouse  of  granite 
and  brick,  natural  woods  throughout  the  interior :  first 
story  cherry ;  second,  ash ;  and  third,  pine,  where  he 
gathered  his  valuable  library.  *'  Where  is  human  nature 
so  weak  as  in  a  book-store  ?  "  he  said ;  and  in  books  and 
flowers  and  works  of  art  he  found  that  money  melted 
away,  so  that,  say  his  sons,  William  C.  Beecher  and  the 
Rev.  Samuel  Scoville,  in  the  life  of  their  father,  "  it  was 
in  part  to  meet  this  heavy  outlay  that  he  projected  and 
carried  out  the  series  of  lecture-tours  that  ran  through 
the  last  ten  years  of  his  life." 

He  had  learned  what  many  another  learns,  that  "  the 
most  profitable  kind  of  land-owning "  is  to  *'  enjoy  all 
that  there  is  of  beauty  and  peacefulness  in  my  neigh- 
bor's lands  as  much  as  they,  without  the  responsibility 
or  the  taxes."  And  yet  people  have  to  build  once,  to 
learn  not  to  build  again. 

In  1872,  Mr.  lieecher  having  preached  for  twenty-five 
years  in  Plymouth  Church,  a  "Silver  Wedding"  was 
celebrated  by  his  people,  Monday,  Oct.  7,  was  the 
first  day  of  the  jubilee.  In  the  sunny  afternoon  the 
three  thousand  children  in  the  three  Sunday-schools 
connected  witli  the  church  marched  past  Mr.  Beecher's 
house,  as  he  stood  upon  his  doorstep,  and  each  child  laid 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER.  255 

a  flower  at  his  feet,  until  he  stood  "  literally  embanked 
in  flowers."  Each  day  through  the  week  had  its  appro- 
priate exercises.  On  Thursday,  the  historical  day,  the 
brilliant  and  learned  Dr.  Kichard  S.  Storrs  of  Brooklyn 
gave  an  eloquent  address,  ''May  your  soul,"  said  the 
speaker,  "as  the  years  go  on,  be  whitened  more  and 
more  in  the  radiance  of  God's  light,  and  in  the  sunshine 
of  His  love  ! " 

That  soul  was  soon  to  be  tested  and  whitened  in  a 
furnace  heated  almost  beyond  endurance.  Theodore 
Tilton,  a  member  of  Mr.  Beecher's  church,  had,  through 
the  influence  of  the  lattei-,  become  the  editor  of  the  In- 
dependent. Having  lost  liis  position,  api)arently  by  his 
own  misdeeds,  and  made  his  family  unhappy,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Beecher  advised  his  wife  to  separate  from  him. 
Tilton  determined  to  drive  Beecher  from  liis  pul})it,  and 
forced  his  wife  to  criminate  the  latter  in  cliaracter,  whiclv 
statements  she  afterwards  declared  again  and  again  were 
untrue  in  every  particular.  Plymouth  (Jhurch  dropped 
its  obnoxicnis  member.  He  t<x)k  the  case  into  the  courts, 
asking  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  damages.  For  six 
months  the  details  were  read  all  over  the  world.  Mr. 
Beeclier  was  acquitted  by  his  church,  by  the  jury,  and 
by  a  National  Advisory  Council  of  one  hundred  and 
seventy-two  churches.  Mr.  William  A.  IJeach,  the  lead- 
ing counsel  for  Tilton,  said  later,  "  I  had  not  been  four 
days  on  the  trial  before  I  was  coutidcnt  tliat  he  was 
innocent.  ...  1  felt  and  feel  now  that  we  were  a  pack 
of  hounds  trying  in  vain  to  drag  down  a  noble  man."' 
Judge  Neilson,  who  had  not  known  ^Ir.  l>eecher  jjrevi- 
ously,  became  his  warm  friend. 

Most  persons  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  go  over  the 
testimony  now,  after  twenty  years  have  cooled  the  pas- 


256  HENRY   WARD  BEECHER. 

sions  of  the  hour,  will  agree  with  Mr.  Beach.  Dr. 
Barrows  says  truly,  "  That  any  man  should  have  en- 
dured the  fires  which  surrounded  Mr.  Beecher,  and  have 
come  forth  so  radiant,  so  pure,  so  self-respecting,  and 
so  widely  trusted  and  beloved,  is  a  moral  miracle,  the 
parallel  of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  find.*' 

The  expenses  of  the  trial  year  were  $118,000 ;  and 
though  Plymouth  Church  raised  Mr.  Beecher's  salary  for 
that  year  to  $100,000,  he  found  himself  deeply  in  debt. 
To  pay  this  indebtedness  he  gave  a  series  of  lectures 
during  the  next  two  or  three  years.  "  The  Reign  of  the 
Common  People,"  "  The  Burdens  of  Society,"  "  Con- 
science," "  The  Uses  of  Wealth,"  "  The  Ministry  of  the 
Beautiful,"  "  Evolution  and  Religion,"  were  among  his 
most  popular  lectures.  Upon  the  last,  though  a  deep 
subject,  I  have  seen  five  thousand  persons  strangely 
moved  by  his  eloquence. 

Although  in  some  places  he  Avas  jeered  at  by  the 
rabble,  yet  year  by  year  he  found  great  strength  and 
comfort  in  the  love  of  the  people.  He  wrote  home  that 
preaching  Sunday  evening  in  Boston,  "Ten  thousand 
peojjle  couldn't  get  in.  Shook  hands  with  whole  audi- 
ences. Papers  next  morning  with  kind  notices.  Went 
to  Congregational  ministers'  meeting  on  Monday  morn- 
ing. Cheered  and  clapped  when  I  entered.  After 
prayer  for  day  was  finished  it  was  moved  that  I  address 
the  meeting.  I  did  so,  and  closed  with  pra^-er.  All 
wept,  and  it  broke  up  like  a  revival  meeting." 

In  188C),  when  Mr.  Beecher  was  seventy-tliree  years  of 
age,  he  consented  to  go  a  third  time  to  England,  to  see 
his  friends  and  lecture.  Mrs.  Beecher  accompanied  him, 
with  his  friend  and  lecture  agent.  Major  J.  B.  Pond. 
Three   thousand   Plymouth  Church  people  came  to  see 


HENRY   WARD   BEECHER.  257 

him  set  sail  in  the  early  morning  of  June  19.  Dod- 
worth's  band  played  "  Hail  to  the  Chief ;  "  and  then,  as 
the  vessel  moved  away,  the  great  crowd  sang,  "Praise 
God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow."  One  friend  had 
sent  a  basket  of  twenty  homing  pigeons ;  and  these  in 
the  afternoon  carried  back  messages  to  the  loved  ones. 

Everywhere  in  England  Henry  Ward  Beecher  was 
received  with  a  royal  welcome.  There  were  no  more 
meetings  like  those  at  Manchester  and  Liverpool  in  the 
days  of  the  Civil  War.  So  vast  were  the  crowds  to  hear 
him  preach,  that  the  congregations  had  to  be  admitted  by 
ticket.  Thousands  were  necessarily  turned  away.  His 
first  lecture  was  at  Exeter  Hall^  Loudon. 

"Between  July  4  and  Oct.  21,  fifteen  and  one-half 
weeks,"  says  Mr.  Pond  in  his  book,  "  A  Summer  in  Eng- 
land with  Henry  Ward  Beecher,"  "  Mr.  Beecher  preached 
seven  times,  gave  nine  public  addresses,  and  delivered 
fifty-eight  lectures.  For  the  fifty-eight  lectures  he 
cleared  the  sum  of  $11, GOO,  net  of  all  expenses  for  him- 
self and  Mrs.  Beecher  from  the  day  they  sailed  from 
New  York." 

It  is  estimated  that  IVIr,  Beecher  earned  by  his  pen 
and  voice  during  fort}'  years  in  Brooklyn  nearly  a  million 
and  a  half  dollars,  most  of  which  he  gave  away. 

Ihit  much  as  he  enjoyed  England,  the  brave  man  was 
growing  weary  with  the  work  of  life.  He  wrote,  "I 
want  to  come  home.  ...  I  long  every  year  to  lay 
down  my  tasks  and  dejiart.  ...  It  is  simply  a  quiet 
longing  of  the  spirit,  a  brooding  desire  to  be  through 
with  my  work,  although  I  am  willing  to  go  on,  if 
need  be." 

He  came  home  Oct.  31,  1886,  and  soon  promised  to 
complete  the  second  volume  of  the  "  Life  of  Christ." 


258  HENRY   WARD  BEECIIER. 

He  also  made  a  contract  with  a  publishing  firm  to  have 
his  autobiography  ready  before  July  1,  1888. 

He  wrote  some  on  each  book  during  tlie  winter, 
March  3  he  went  to  New  York  with  his  wife,  who  said, 
"  I  never  knew  my  husband  so  lively,  tender,  or  joyous 
before,  or  not  in  a  long  time."  That  night  he  retired 
early,  feeling  weary.  The  next  day,  Friday,  he  slept 
nearly  all  day,  and,  being  aroused  to  go  to  a  prayer-meet- 
ing, said  he  did  not  feel  like  getting  up.  A  physician 
came  in  the  afternoon  and  in  the  evening,  and  asked  Mr. 
Beecher  to  raise  his  hand.  He  could  not.  The  left  side 
showed  signs  of  paralysis.     It  was  apoplexy. 

The  great  man  watched  the  faces  of  his  wife  and  the 
doctor,  seemed  to  divine  the  result,  closed  his  eyes,  gave 
the  hand  of  his  wife  "  a  long,  strong,  loving,  and  earnest 
pressure.  It  was  the  realization  of  the  inevitable.  It 
was  farewell.  He  never  opened  his  eyes  again.  His 
sleep,  thereafter,  was  constant.  .  .  .  From  Saturday 
morning  until  the  end  were  silence,  sleep,  heavy  but 
regular  breathing,  and  unconsciousness.  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Beeclier  held  his  hand  in  hers  continually.  AVhen  the 
end  api)roached  all  the  household  were  gathered.  .  .  . 
Not  one  of  them  shed  a  tear  or  gave  expression  to  a  sob 
—  then  and  there.  The  supreme  self-control  was  in 
obedience  to  Mr.  Beecher's  often  expressed  hope  and 
wish  that  around  his  bed  of  release  no  tears  should  fall, 
but  the  feeling  should  prevail  as  those  who  think  of  a 
soul  gone  to  its  crowning."' 

At  half-past  nine,  Tuesday  morning,  IVIarch  8,  1887, 
the  end  came.  He  had  often  said,  "  Provide  flowers  for 
me,  not  craj)e,  when  I  am  gone  ;  "  so  at  once  a  wreath  of 
pink  and  white  roses  were  hung  upon  the  door-knob. 

Private   funeral   services  were   held  at  the  house  on 


HENRY   WARD  BEECHER.  259 

Thursday,  conducted  by  the  Rev.  Charles  H.  Hall,  Rec- 
tor of  Trinity  Church,  Brooklyn,  who  in  Mr.  Beecher's 
time  of  trial,  seeing  him  in  his  congregation,  went  down 
the  aisle,  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  to  a  seat 
within  the  chancel.  Mr,  Beecher  never  forgot  a  kind 
act,  and  wished  Dr.  Hall  to  attend  at  his  burial. 

"There  was  no  man  whom  I  ever  heard,"  said  Dr. 
Hall,  "  or  whose  works  I  have  ever  read,  who  inspired 
me  so  deeply  with  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
He  was  a  man  of  men,  the  most  manly  man  I  ever  met ; 
but  he  was  also  a  man  of  God  in  the  pre-eminent  sense 
of  the  word." 

The  body  was  escorted  to  the  church  by  Company  G 
of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  —  "  My  boys,"  Mr.  Beecher 
called  them,  as  many  were  of  Plymouth  Church. 

The  coffin  was  laid  in  a  perfect  bower  of  flowers,  lilies 
of  the  valley,  maidenhair  fern,  and  smilax  entirely  cov- 
ering it.  The  organ,  platform,  and  pulpit  chair  were  a 
mass  of  bloom,  —  roses  and  pinks  and  graceful  })lants. 

All  day  long,  until  ten  at  night,  tlie  throng  of  people, 
half  or  three-quarters  of  a  mile  in  extent,  passed  by  to 
look  at  the  beloved  face.  On  Friday,  only  tliose  were 
admitted  who  had  tickets.  Four  churclies  were  oi)en 
for  services,  and  all  were  crowded.  All  public  offices 
and  schools  were  closed,  and  business  was  suspended. 

Dr.  Hall  made  the  address  at  the  funeral.  Very  ten- 
derly he  said  of  the  dead  jjreaclier,  "  On  his  last  Sunday 
evening  in  this  })lace,  two  weeks  ago,  after  the  congre- 
gation had  retired  from  it,  the  organist  and  one  or  two 
others  were  practising  the  hymn,  — 

"  '  I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say, 
Come  unto  me  and  rest.' 


260  HENRY'   WAUD   B  EEC  HER. 

"  Mr.  Beeclier,  doubtless  Avith  that  tire  that  follows 
a  pastor's  Sunday  work,  remained  and  listened.  Two 
street  urchins  were  prompted  to  wander  into  the  build- 
ing; and  one  of  them  was  standing  in  the  jmsition  of  the 
boy  whom  Rapliael  has  immortalized,  gazing  up  at  the 
organ.  The  old  man,  laying  his  hands  on  the  boy's 
head,  turned  his  face  upward  and  kissed  him  ;  and  with 
his  arms  about  the  two,  left  the  scene  of  his  triumphs, 
his  trials,  and  l>is  successes  forever. 

"  It  was  a  fitting  close  to  a  grand  life,  the  old  man  of 
genius  and  fame  shielding  the  little  wanderers,  great 
in  breasting  traditional  ways  and  prejudices,  great  also 
in  the  gesture,  so  like  him,  that  recognized,  as  did  the 
Master,  that  the  humblest  and  poorest  were  his  breth- 
ren, the  great  preacher  led  out  into  the  night  by  the 
little  nameless  waifs." 

After  the  services  the  doors  were  opened,  and  one 
hundred  thousand  people  passed  through  the  church  by 
the  coffin. 

On  Saturday,  March  12,  the  body  Avas  taken  to  Green- 
wood Cemetery,  and  temporarily  placed  in  a  receiving 
vault  filled  with  abundant  flowers.  Later  it  was  buried 
on  Dawn  Path,  near  Hillside  Avenue,  on  the  south-east- 
erly slope  of  Ocean  Hill,  with  a  simple  headstone. 

'•  When  I  fall,"  said  the  great  preacher,  '•  and  am 
buried  in  Greenwood,  let  no  man  dare  to  stand  over  the 
turf  and  say,  '  Here  lies  Henry  Ward  Beecher ; '  for  God 
knows  that  I  will  not  lie  there.  Look  up !  if  you  love 
me,  and  if  you  feel  that  I  have  helped  you  on  your  way 
home,  stand  with  your  feet  on  my  turf  and  look  up ;  for 
I  will  not  hear  anybody  that  does  not  speak  with  his 
mouth  toward  heaven." 


CHARLES   KINGSLEY. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


On  a  white  marble  cross  in  Eversley  churchyard,  Eng- 
land, under  a  spray  of  the  passion-flower,  are  the  Latin 
words,  "  Amavimus,  Amamus,  Auiabimus^^  (we  have 
loved,  we  love,  we  shall  love) ;  and  above  them,  around 
the  cross,  "  God  is  love."  Those  were  the  words  chosen 
by  the  famous  preacher  and  author ;  and  they  were  the 
key-note  of  the  life  of  one  who  lived  for  his  people. 

Charles  Kingsley,  the  sou  of  a  minister,  was  born  at 
Holne  Vicarage,  Devonshire,  England,  June  12,  1819. 
Of  his  father,  he  wrote  in  ISO;"),  "  He  was  a  magnificent 
man  in  bod}'  and  mind,  and  was  said  to  possess  every 
talent  except  that  of  using  his  talents.  My  mother,  on 
the  contrary,  had  a  quite  extraordinary  practical  and  ad- 
ministrative power;  and  she  combines  with  it,  even  at 
her  advanced  age  (seventAMiine),  my  father's  passion  for 
knowledge,  and  tlie  sentiment  and  fancy  of  a  young  girl.'' 

From  his  father,  Charles  seems  to  have  inherited  his 
love  of  art,  natural  liistory,  and  atliletic  sports  ;  from 
his  mother,  his  love  of  poetry  and  romance,  and  the  force 
and  originality  which  made  him  a  marked  character  in 
liis  town  and  nation. 

Wlien  four  years  of  age,  he  used  to  make  a  puli)it  in 
his  niirsery,  arrange  the  chairs  for  a  congregation,  and 
preach  as  follows,  his  mother  taking  down  the  words  un- 
observed: **It  is  uot  right  to   light.     Honesty  has  no 

261 


262  CHARLES   KINGSLEY. 

chance  against  stealing.  We  must  follow  God,  and  not 
follow  the  Devil ;  for  if  we  follow  the  Devil,  we  shall  go 
into  that  everlasting  fire,  and  if  we  follow  God,  we  shall 
go  to  heaven."  His  poems  at  this  time  were  remark- 
able for  a  child. 

He  studied  and  loved  nature,  and  delighted  in  sunsets, 
rocks,  flowers,  and  the  wonders  of  the  sea.  At  Clovelly, 
whitlier  the  rector  had  moved  his  family,  Charles  found 
great  delight  in  the  study  of  sliells,  and  in  the  company 
of  the  warm-hearted  fishermen.  But  for  this  early  asso- 
ciation, it  is  probable  that  the  beautiful  song  of  the 
"  Three  Fisliers  "  would  never  have  been  written. 

When  the  lad  was  twelve  years  old  he  was  sent,  with 
his  brother  Herbert,  to  a  preparatory  school  at  Clifton, 
under  the  Rev.  Jolin  Knight.  Here  he  sliowed  an  affec- 
tionate and  gentle  nature,  only  excited  to  anger  when 
the  servant  swept  away  the  precious  shells  and  grasses 
collected  in  his  walks  on  the  Downs. 

Afterwards  he  and  Herbert  were  sent  to  the  grammar 
school  at  Helston,  which  was  in  charge  of  the  Rev. 
Derwent  Coleridge,  son  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 
Here  he  became  tlie  intimate  friend  of  Richard  Cowley 
Rowles,  afterwards  fellow  and  tutor  of  Exeter  College, 
Oxford. 

Mr.  Powles  wrotf-  of  his  friend  later,  "  Of  him,  more 
than  of  most  men  who  liave  become  famous,  it  may  be 
said,  '  The  boy  was  father  of  the  man.'  The  vehement 
spirit,  tlie  adventurous  courage,  the  love  of  truth,  the 
impatience  of  injustice,  tlie  quick  and  tender  sympathy, 
that  distinguished  the  man's  entrance  on  public  life, 
were  all  in  the  boy.  .  .  .  For  botany  and  geology  he 
had  an  absolute  enthusiasm.  .  .  .  He  liked  nothing 
better  than  to  sally  out,  hammer  in  liand  and  his  botani- 


CHARLES   KINGSLEY.  263 

cal  tin  slung  round  Lis  neck,  on  some  long  expedition  in 
quest  of  new  plants,  and  to  investigate  the  cliffs  within 
a  few  miles  of  Helston,  dear  to  every  geologist." 

''  In  manner,"  says  the  Rev.  Mr.  Coleridge,  "  he  was 
strikingly  courteous,  and  thus,  with  his  wide  and  ready 
sympathies  and  bright  intelligence,  was  popular  alike 
with  tutor,  schoolfellows,  and  servants." 

Kingsley  always  regretted  that  he  did  not  go  to  school 
at  Kugby,  as  he  thought  nothing  "but  a  public  school 
education  would  have  overcome  his  constitutional  shy- 
ness." 

The  Kingsley  family  removed  to  Chelsea  when  Charles 
was  seventeen,  and  he  became  a  day  student  at  King's 
College.  Two  years  later,  in  1838,  he  went  to  Magdalene 
College,  Cambridge,  where  he  stood  first  in  classics  and 
mathematics  at  the  examinations.  For  his  prize  he 
selected  a  fine  edition  of  Plato  in  eleven  volumes. 

In  the  summer  of  1839,  July  6,  when  he  was  twent}^, 
he  met  Fanny,  daughter  of  Pascoe  Grenfell,  whom  he 
afterwards  married.  "  That  was  my  real  wedding-day," 
he  said  years  later.  At  that  time  his  mind  was  full  of 
religious  doubt,  and  he  was  far  from  liappy.  The  young 
lady  ])roved  a  most  valuable  intellectual  and  spiritual 
helper;  and  after  two  months  of  companionship,  when 
he  returned  to  Cambridge,  she  loaned  him  many  books 
and  wrote  him  letters  whicli  proved  a  life-long  blessing, 
('arlyle's  "French  Revolution"  had  a  great  effect  upon  his 
mind,  in  establishing  his  belief  in  God's  righteous  gov- 
ernment of  the  world;  also  Maurice's  "Kingdom  of 
Christ,"  to  which  lie  said  he  owed  more  than  to  any 
book  he  had  ever  read. 

Young  Kingsley  was  at  tliis  time  robust  in  health, 
able  to  walk  from  Cambridge  to  Loudon,  fifty -two  miles, 


264  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

starting  early  and  reaching  the  latter  city  at  nine  p.m. 
For  many  years  lie  delighted  in  a  country  walk  of  twenty 
or  twenty-five  miles. 

In  1841,  after  the  struggle  through  which  most  per- 
sons pass  before  deciding  upon  a  life-work,  he  gave 
himself  to  the  ministry,  rather  than  to  the  law,  for 
which  his  name  had  been  entered  at  Lincoln's  Inn.  He 
wrote  to  Fanny,  June  12,  — 

"  My  birth-niglit.  I  have  been  for  the  last  hour  on 
the  seashore,  not  dreaming,  but  thinking  deeply  and 
strongly,  and  forming  determinations  which  are  to  affect 
my  destiny  through  time  and  through  eternity.  Before 
the  sleeping  earth,  and  the  sleepless  sea  and  stars,  I 
have  devoted  myself  to  God ;  a  vow  never  (if  He  gives 
me  the  faith  I  pray  for)  to  be  recalled." 

After  taking  honors  at  Cambridge,  and  reading  for 
Holy  Orders,  he  began  to  write  the  life  of  'his  ideal 
saint,  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  for  his  intended  wife, 
if,  indeed,  he  should  ever  win  her. 

The  curacy  of  Eversley  was  offered  him,  and  he 
accepted  it  at  twenty-three.  The  fir-trees  on  the  rectory 
lawn  were  a  great  comfort.  He  wrote  to  Fauny,  "  Those 
delicious  self-sown  firs !  Every  step  I  wander  they 
whisper  to  me  of  you,  the  delicious  past  melting  into 
the  more  delicious  future." 

But  from  the  opposition  of  friends  the  corresi)ondenee 
was  broken,  and  for  a  year  the  hard  parish  work  was 
carried  on  alone.  In  his  parting  letter  to  her  he  says, 
urging  her  to  practise  music,  "  Music  is  such  a  vent  for 
the  feelings.  .  .  .  Study  medicine.  ...  I  am  studying 
it.  .  .  .  Make  yourself  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
wages,  wants,  and  habits  and  prevalent  diseases  of  the 
poor,  wherever  you  go.  .  .  . 


CHARLES   KINGSLEY.  265 

"  I  have  since  nine  this  morning  cut  wood  for  an  hour ; 
spent  an  hour  and  more  in  prayer  and  humiliation  .  .  . 
written  six  or  seven  pages  of  a  difficult  part  of  my  essay ; 
taught  in  the  school ;  thought  over  many  things  while 
walking ;  gone  round  two-thirds  of  the  parish  visiting 
and  doctoring,  and  written  all  this."  .  .  . 

The  young  curate  lived  in  a  thatched  cottage,  and 
found  a  remedy  for  his  loneliness  in  hard  work.  The 
church  services  had  been  neglected,  and  the  ale-houses 
were  preferred  on  Sunday  to  the  house  of  worship.  There 
were  no  schools  for  the  children  worthy  of  the  name, 
and  the  minister  had  to  be  teacher  as  well  as  preacher. 

Finally  the  long  silence  was  broken,  and  Kingsley 
wrote  again  to  his  Fanny,  "  I  have  been  making  a  fool 
of  myself  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  according  to  the 
world's  notion  of  folly  ;  for  there  have  been  some  stroll- 
ing fiddlers  under  the  window,  and  I  have  been  listen- 
ing and  crying  like  a  child.  Some  quick  music  is  so 
inexpxessively  mournful.  It  seems  just  like  one's  own 
feelings,  —  exultation  and  action,  with  the  remembrance 
of  past  sorrow  wailing  up.  .  .  .  Let  us  never  despise 
the  wandering  minstrel  !  .  .  .  And  who  knows  what 
tender  thoughts  his  own  sweet  music  stirs  Avithin  liim, 
though  he  eat  in  pot-houses  and  sleep  in  barns  !  " 

Again  he  wrote,  looking  forward  to  the  home  they 
would  some  time  have  together,  *'  We  will  hunt  out  all 
the  texts  in  tlie  l>ible  about  masters  and  servants,  to 
form  rules  upon  them.  .  .  .  Our  work  must  be  done  by 
praying  for  our  people,  by  preaching  to  them,  .  .  .  and 
by  setting  them  an  example, —  an  example  in  every  look, 
word,  and  motion ;  in  the  paying  of  a  bill,  the  hiring 
of  a  servant,  the  reproving  of  a  child." 

He  carried  out  his  Christian  principles  in  his  relations 


266  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

with  his  employees.  At  his  death  all  the  servants  in 
his  house  had  lived  with  him  from  seventeen  to  twenty- 
six  years. 

Early  in  1844  Kingsley,  then  twenty-five,  was  married 
to  the  woman  he  loved,  and  the  curate  became  the  rector 
at  Eversley.  The  house  was  damp,  from  the  rain  flood- 
ing the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  and  the  land  required 
much  drainage,  l^ut  the  happy  husband  was  full  of 
energy,  and  set  to  work  to  make  the  place  habitable  and 
attractive. 

At  once  the  young  preacher  established  among  the 
laborers  a  shoe-club,  coal-club,  loan-fund,  and  lending- 
library.  A  school  for  adults  Avas  held  at  the  rectory 
three  nights  a  week  all  through  the  winter ;  a  class  in 
music;  a  Sunday-school  met  there  every  Sunday  morn- 
ing and  afternoon  ;  and  in  the  outlying  districts  weekly 
lectures  were  held  at  the  cottages  for  tlie  aged  and 
feeble.  None  of  the  grown-up  men  and  women  among 
the  laborers  could  read  or  write,  and  the  minister  became 
their  devoted  teacher.  He  taught  them  to  love  the 
nature  he  loved,  —  the  flowers,  trees,  birds,  and  evex*- 
changing  sky.  He  visited  the  poor,  the  sick,  and  the 
dying,  and  soon  became  the  idol  of  his  people.  He  fed 
their  minds  as  well  as  their  souls  ;  he  knew,  as  so  few 
really  know,  the  all-important  work  whicli  the  pastor 
has  committed  to  his  liands.  No  wonder  that  London 
and  England,  and  America  finally,  heard  of  this  model 
preacher,  and  came  to  love  him. 

The  year  after  his  marriage,  1845,  was  saddened  by 
the  death  of  his  brother,  Lieut.  Gerald  Kingsley,  in 
Torres  Straits,  on  board  Her  Majesty's  ship  Royalist. 
All  the  officers  and  half  the  crew  died  Of  fever.  His 
brother  Herbert  had  died  of  heart-disease  in  1834,  wheu 
they  were  boys  together  at  school. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  267 

The  drama  of  "St.  Elizabeth"  was  now  finished;  and  in 
1847  the  young  preacher  started  for  London,  on  a  seri- 
ous mission,  —  to  find  a  publisher.  He  read  the  poem  to 
his  noble  friend,  Mr.  Maurice,  who  wrote  a  preface  for 
it;  and  to  Coleridge,  who  gave  him  a  commendatory 
letter  to  a  publisher.  The  i)oem  met  the  usual  fate,  — 
declined  with  thanks. 

He  wrote  liis  wife,  "I  am  now  going  to  Parker's  in 
the  Strand.  I  am  at  once  very  happy,  very  lonely,  and 
very  anxious.  How  absence  increases  love  !  It  is  posi- 
tively good  sometimes  to  be  parted,  that  one's  affection 
may  become  conscious  of  itself,  and  proud  and  humble 
and  thankful  accordingly."  .  .  . 

Later  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Powles,  "'St.  Elizabeth'  is  in 
the  press,  having  been  taken  off  my  hands  by  the  heroic 
magnanimity  of  Mr.  J.  Parker,  West  Strand,  who,  though 
a  burnt  child,  does  not  dread  the  fire.  No  one  else  would 
have  it." 

Having  earned  a  little  money  by  extra  Sunday  services 
at  Pennington,  he  took  his  wife  and  his  two  small  chil- 
dren. Hose  and  Maurice,  for  a  six  weeks'  holiday  to  the 
seaside,  near  the  edge  of  the  New  Forest.  Here,  revel- 
ling in  the  scenery,  he  wrote  several  ballads. 

Wlicn  the  drama  "  The  Saints'  Tragedy  "  was  pub- 
lished, it  Avas  fiercely  attacked  by  tlie  Higli  ('hurch 
l)arty  at  Oxford.  In  Germany  it  was  read  and  liked, 
and  Chevalier  Punsen  wrote  heartily  in  praise  of  it. 

Wlieu  Kingsley,  now  twenty-nine,  went  for  a  few 
weeks  to  Oxford,  to  visit  liis  friend.  Mr.  Powles,  Fellow 
of  Exeter,  he  received  much  attention  on  account  of  liis 
book.  He  wrote  to  his  wife,  "They  got  up  a  nuM'ting 
for  me,  and  the  club  was  crowded  with  men  nun-ely  to 
see  poor  me,  so  I  found  out  afterwards  :  very  lucky  that 


268  CHARLES  KINGSLET. 

I  did  not  know  it  during  the  process  of  being  trotted 
out.  It  is  very  funny  and  new.  .  .  ,  Froude  gets  more 
and  more  interesting.  We  had  such  a  conversation  this 
morning!  —  the  crust  is  breaking,  and  the  m^n  coining 
through  that  cold,  polished  shell.  JMy  darling  babies  ! 
kiss  them  very  much  for  me." 

The  parish  work  at  Eversley  increased  month  l)y 
month.  A  writing-class  for  girls  was  held  in  the  empty 
coach-house,  and  a  cottage  school  for  infants  was  begun. 
He  wrote  his  first  article  for  Frasers  Magazine  on 
Popery.  He  preaclied  to  his  congregation  on  the  topics 
of  the  day,  —  emigration,  and  the  political  and  social  dis- 
turbances of  the  time.  He  was,  in  fact,  what  a  preacher 
should  be,  —  a  leader  of  the  people. 

He  accepted  the  professorshii)  of  English  literature 
and  composition  at  Queen's  College,  Harley  Street,  of 
which  Mr.  Maurice  was  president,  and  went  up  to  Lon- 
don once  a  week  to  lecture.  He  became  the  devoted 
friend  of  Thomas  Hughes,  author  of  "School  Days  at 
Rugby  ; "  of  Bishop  Stanley  of  Norwich  and  his  distin- 
guished son.  Dean  Stanley,  and  of  many  otliers. 

During  this  year,  1847-48,  on  account  of  great  distress 
among  the  people,  there  were  riots  in  London  and  in 
other  large  cities.  Tlie  troops  were  called  out  under 
Wellington  to  disperse  the  Chartists,  who  demanded  a 
"People's  Charter"  from  Parliament,  with  more  riglits 
for  the  laborers. 

Kingsley  threw  himself  heartily  into  tlie  conflict.  He 
wrote  a  conciliatory  letter  to  the  "  Workmen  of  Eng- 
land," which  was  posted  up  in  London. 

"  You  say  that  you  are  wronged.  ^Lany  of  you  are 
wronged,  and  many  besides  yourselves  know  it.  Almost 
all  men  who  have  heads  and  hearts  know  it  —  above  all. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  269 

the  working  clergy  know  it.  They  go  into  your  houses ; 
they  see  tlie  shameful  filth  and  darkness  in  which  you 
are  forced  to  live  crowded  together ;  they  see  your  chil- 
dren growing  u})  in  ignorance  and  temptation,  for  want 
of  fit  education ;  they  see  intelligent  and  well-read  men 
among  you,  shut  out  from  a  freeman's  just  right  of  vot- 
ing; and  they  see,  too,  the  noble  patience  and  self-control 
with  which  you  have  as  yet  borne  these  evils.  They 
see  it,  and  God  sees  it." 

And  then  he  urges  them  "to  turn  back  from  the  preci- 
pice of  riot,  which  ends  in  the  gulf  of  luiiversal  distrust, 
stagnation,  starvation.  .  .  .  Workers  of  England,  be 
wise,  and  then  you  must  be  free ;  for  you  will  be  fit  to 
be  free." 

For  four  years,  1848-52,  he  wrote  for  three  periodi(\als. 
Politics  for  the  People,  The  Cliristian  Socialist,  and  the 
Journal  of  Association. 

Many  friends  and  relations  begged  him  to  desist  from 
fighting  the  battles  of  the  people,  as  such  sympathy 
"  was  likely  to  spoil  his  prospects  in  life."  But  he  wrote 
his  wife  in  reference  to  this  matter,  "  I  will  not  be  a 
liar.  I  will  speak  in  season  and  out  of  season.  I  will 
not  shun  to  declare  the  whole  counsel  of  God.  .  .  .  ]\[y 
]>ath  is  clear,  and  I  will  follow  in  it.  Hi;  w^ho  died  for 
me,  and  who  gave  me  you,  shall  I  not  trust  Him  tlirough 
whatsoever  new  and  strange  paths  He  may  lead  me  '.' " 

He  always  felt  "  that  the  party-walls  of  rank  and 
fasliioiv  and  money  were  but  a  paper  prison  of  our  own 
making,  wliich  we  miglit  break  through  any  monuMit  by 
a  single  hearty  and  kindly  feeling." 

In  the  autumn  of  1848,  while  writing  "  Yeast,"  a 
novel  which  was  first  ind)lished  in  Frasers  Matjazine, 
doing  the  work  at  niglit,  wlien  his  other  duties  were  fin- 


270  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

ished  and  the  liouse  was  still,  he  broke  down,  and  for 
niontlis  was  nnable  to  do  more  than  walk  along  the  sea- 
shore and  gather  shells,  even  conversation  being  too 
exhansting  for  him. 

Friends  canity  to  show  their  symjtathy  and  fondness 
for  the  great-hearted  man  —  among  them  Mr.  Froude, 
who  met  Charlotte,  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Kingsley,  and 
married  her. 

Ileturning  to  tlie  work  at  Eversley,  where  a  low  fever 
had  broken  out  among  the  people,  and  where  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  obtain  nurses,  Kingsley  cared  for 
the  sick,  watching  all  night  with  a  laborer's  wife,  the 
mother  of  a  large  family,  that  she  might  receive  nourish- 
ment every  half-hour,  and  soon  broke  down  again,  and 
was  obliged  to  go  to  Devonshire. 

On  his  return  to  Eversley,  cholera  had  once  more  ap- 
peared in  England,  and  early  and  late  he  carried  on  a 
crusade  against  dirt  and  bad  drainage. 

As  his  means  were  limited,  he  usually  took  two  or 
more  pupils  to  fit  them  for  the  ministry ;  and  now  began 
his  "  Alton  Locke,"  the  autobiograjjliy  of  a  tailor  and  a 
poet,  in  the  interest  of  workingmcn.  "God  grant,"  he 
says  in  the  preface,  "  that  the  workmen  of  tlie  South  of 
England  may  bestir  themselves  ere  it  be  too  late,  and 
discover  that  the  only  defence  against  want  is  self- 
restraint."  He  urges  that  tliey  "  organize  among  them- 
selves associations  for  buying  and  selling  the  necessaries 
of  life,  which  may  enable  them  to  weather  the  dark 
season  of  liigh  ])rices  and  stagnation,  which  is  certain, 
sooner  or  later,  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  war." 

To  write  this  book,  lie  got  up  at  five  every  morning 
and  worked  till  breakfast,  devoting  the  rest  of  the  day 
to  his  sermons,  his  pupils,  and  the  various  schools  and 


CHARLES  KING8LEY.  271 

societies  of  liis  parish.  "  His  habit,"  says  his  wife,  in 
lier  life  of  Kiugsley, ''  was  thoroughly  to  master  his  sub- 
ject, whether  book  or  sermon,  always  out  in  the  open  air, 
—  in  his  garden,  on  the  moor,  or  by  the  side  of  a  lonely 
trout  stream  ;  and  never  to  put  pen  to  paper  till  the  ideas 
were  clothed  in  words.  .  .  .  For  many  years  his  writ- 
ing was  all  done  by  his  wife,  from  his  dictation,  while  he 
paced  up  and  down  the  room." 

When  "  Alton  Locke  "  was  linislied,  the  old  difficulty 
of  finding  a  publisher  began.  Messrs.  Parker,  who  had 
brought  out  *'  Yeast,"  which  had  caused  much  theologi- 
cal discussion,  refused  to  take  another  book.  Finally, 
through  the  influence  of  Carlyle,  Messrs.  Chapman  & 
Hall  were  induced  to  bring  it  out. 

The  press,  as  in  the  case  of  '•'  Yeast,"  was  severe  on 
'•'  Alton  Locke ;  "  but  brave  Thomas  Carlyle  wrote  Kings- 
ley  to  "  pay  no  attention  at  all  to  the  foolish  clamor  of 
reviewers,  whether  laudatory  or  condemnatory." 

Kingsley's  correspondence  increased  day  by  day.  One 
])ersou  wrote  about  going  over  to  the  Komish  Church  ; 
another  about  his  atheistic  doubts ;  another  desired  to 
reform  his  life ;  and  others  asked  advice  on  almost  num- 
berloes  matters. 

To  an  atheist,  who  was  later  converted  under  Kings- 
ley,  he  wrote,  ''  As  for  helping  you  to  Christ,  F  do  not 
believe  I  can  one  inch.  I  see  no  hope  but  in  pi-ayer,  in 
going  to  Him  yourself,  in  saying,  Lord,  if  Tliou  art  tlicre, 
if  Thou  art  at  all,  if  this  all  be  not  a  lie,  fulfil  Thy  re- 
puted promises,  and  give  me  peace  and  a  sense  of  for- 
giveness." 

Kingsley  would  say  to  his  wife,  as  a  letter  was  an- 
swered, or  another  chapter  of  a  book  finished,  "  Thank 
God,  one  more  thing  done  !  —  and  oh,  how  blessed  it  will 


272  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

be  when  it  is  all  over,  to  lie  down  in  that  dear  church- 
yard ! "  The  work  of  the  great  world,  with  all  its 
sorrows,  had  tired  Kingsley  at  thirty-two. 

"  Hypatia,"  one  of  the  novels  which  will  last  for  centu- 
ries, was  begun  in  1851.  He  writes  to  the  Kev.  Mr. 
Maurice  in  January,  "If  I  do  not  use  my  pen  to  the 
uttermost  in  earning  my  daily  bread,  I  shall  not  get 
through  this  year.  .  .  .  My  available  income  is  less 
than  £400.  I  cannot  reduce  my  charities,  and  I  am 
driven  either  to  give  up  my  curate  or  to  write  ;  and 
either  of  these  alternatives,  with  the  increased  parish 
work,  for  I  have  got  either  lectures  or  night  school  every 
night  in  the  week,  and  three  services  on  Sunday,  will 
demand  my  whole  time." 

As  to  "  Hypatia,"  he  writes,  "  My  idea  in  the  romance 
is  to  set  forth  Christianity  as  the  only  really  democratic 
creed,  and  philosophy,  above  all,  spiritualism,  as  the 
most  exclusively  aristocratic  creed." 

In  October  he  writes  to  a  friend,  " '  Hypatia '  grows, 
little  darling,  and  I  am  getting  very  fond  of  her." 

When  tlie  book  was  published  in  1853,  two  years  after 
it  was  begun,  it  aroused  most  bitter  criticism  from  a 
])ortion  of  the  English  Church.  But  no  adverse  criticism 
could  prevent  its  being  read  and  loved  by  the  people  of 
two  continents.  Thirty  years  later  it  had  gone  through 
thirteen  editions. 

Our  own  Whittier  wrote  Mrs.  Kingsley,  after  her  hus- 
band's death,  "  My  copy  of  his  '  Hypatia  '  is  worn  by  fre- 
quent perusal,  and  the  echoes  of  his  rare  and  beautiful 
lyrics  never  die  out  of  my  memory.  But  since  I  have 
seen  him,  the  man  seems  greater  than  the  authcy.  .  .  . 
His  heart  seemed  overcharged  with  interest  in  the  wel- 
fare, physical,  moral,  and  spiritual,  of  his  race.     I  was 


CHARLES  KINGSLET.  273 

conscious  in  his  presence  of  the  bracing  atmosphere  of  a 
noble  nature.  He  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  manliest  of 
men." 

No  man  could  have  drawn  that  masterful  picture  of 
the  beautiful  maid  of  Alexandria,  philosopher,  mathema- 
tician, teacher,  and  leader  of  her  time,  who  had  not  the 
greatest  reverence  for  woman,  and  a  belief  in  her  mar- 
vellous power.  Such  a  man  could  never  limit  the  sphere 
of  woman  by  any  human  barriers.  He  said  to  a  friend 
that  his  aim  was,  in  every  book  he  wrote,  to  set  forth 
"  woman  as  the  teacher,  the  natural,  and  therefore  divine, 
guide,  purifier,  inspirer  of  the  man." 

One  learns  to  love  the  brilliant  Hypatia,  as  did  the 
monk,  Philammon,  and  the  Jew,  Raphael  Aben-Ezra, 
and  shudders  when  she  is  torn  in  pieces  about  the  age  of 
forty  by  the  mob. 

The  book  holds  one  spell-bound  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  many  another  copy  besides  that  of  "Whittier  "  is 
worn  by  frequent  perusal." 

Mr.  C.  Kegan  Paul,  the  London  publisher,  was  staying 
at  the  home  of  the  Kingsleys  when  much  of  "  Hypatia  " 
was  written.  "I  was  struck,"  he  says,  speaking  of  the 
author,  "  not  only  with  his  power  of  work,  but  with  the 
extraordinary  pains  he  took  to  be  accurate  in  detail. 
We  spent  one  whole  day  in  searching  tlie  four  folio 
volumes  of  Synesius  for  a  fact  he  thought  was  there, 
and  which  was  found  there  at  last.  "  Wlien  I  have  done 
'Hypatia,'"  he  writes  IMr.  Ludlow,  "I  Avill  write  no 
more  novels.  I  will  write  poetry  —  not  as  a  profession, 
but  I  will  keep  myself  for  it;  and  I  do  think  I  shall  do 
something  that  will  live.  I  feel  my  strong  faculty  is 
that  sense  of  form,  which,  till  T  took  to  poetry,  always 
came  out  in  drawing,  drawing ;  but  poetry  is  the  true 


274  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

sphere,  combining  painting  and  music  and  history  all  in 
one." 

"At  that  time,"  says  a  friend,  "in  liis  books  and  pam- 
phlets, and  often  in  his  daily,  familiar  speech,  lie  was 
pouring  out  the  whole  force  of  his  eager,  passionate 
lieart  in  wrath  and  indignation  against  starvation  wages, 
stifling  worksliops,  reeking  alleys,  careless  landlords, 
roofless  and  crowded  cottages.  .  .  .  No  human  being 
but  was  sure  of  a  patient,  interested  hearer  in  liim.  I 
have  seen  him  seat  himself,  hatless,  beside  a  tramp  on 
the  grass  outside  of  his  gate  in  his  eagerness  to  catch 
exactly  what  he  had  to  say,  searching  him,  as  they  sat, 
in  his  keen,  kindly  way  with  question  and  look." 

About  the  time  of  the  opening  of  the  Great  Exhibi- 
tion, so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  noble  Prince  Albert, 
Kingsley  was  asked  to  preach  a  s<n'mon  to  workingmen 
in  a  London  church  near  by,  whi(^h  lie  di<l  with  great 
sympathy  and  tenderness.  Just  as  tlie  blessing  was  to 
be  pronounced,  the  clergyman  who  had  invited  Kingsley 
rose  and  remarked  that  it  was  his  painful  duty  to  say 
that  he  believed  much  of  what  Mr.  Kingsley  had  said 
"  was  dangerous  and  untrue." 

Kingsley,  wounded  beyond  expression,  quietly  left  the 
church,  and  a  riot  of  tlie  workmen  was  with  difficulty 
])r<^vented.  That  night  in  his  sadness  and  exhaustion 
he  wrote  that  immortal  song  of  the  "  Three  Fishers," 
which  seemed  to  soothe  and  rest  him. 

"  Tliroe  fishers  went  sailing  out  into  tlie  west, 

Out  into  tlie  west  as  tlie  sun  went  down: 
Each  thought  of  the  woman  who  loved  him  the  hest, 

And  the  children  stood  watching  them  out  of  the  town; 
For  men  must  work  and  women  must  weep, 
And  there's  little  to  earn,  and  many  to  keep, 

Though  the  harhor  har  be  moaning. 


CHARLES  KINGS  LET.  275 

Three  wives  sat  up  in  the  lighthouse  tower, 
And  they  trimmed  tlie  lamps  as  the  sun  went  down; 

They  looked  at  the  squall,  and  they  looked  at  the  shower. 
And  the  night-rack  came  rolling  up  ragged  and  brown. 

But  men  nuist  work  and  women  must  weep. 

Though  storms  be  sudden  and  waters  deep, 
And  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  corpses  lay  out  on  the  shining  sands, 

•In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide  went  down ; 
And  the  women  are  weeping  and  wringing  their  hands, 

For  those  that  will  never  come  back  to  the  town. 
For  men  must  work  and  women  must  weep. 
And  the  sooner  it's  over,  the  sooner  to  sleep, 

And  good-by  to  the  bar  and  its  moaning." 

The  winter  and  spring  of  1854  were  spent  at  Torquay, 
Mrs.  Kingsley  having  become  ill  from  the  damp  rectory 
at  Eversley.  Mr.  Kingsley  also  had  become  worn  in 
mind  and  body  from  the  constant  attacks  of  the  religious 
press  against  his  supposed  liberal  views.  He  and  his 
children  passed  happy  days  along  the  seashore,  gathering 
specimens  to  send  to  the  scientist,  Mr.  H.  P.  Gosse,  in 
London,  and  collecting  materials  for  his  articles  in  the 
NortJj,  British  Reriew  on  "  The  Wonders  of  the  Shore.*' 
Before  leaving  Torquay  he  made  a  list  of  about  sixty 
species  of  Mollusks,  Annelides,  Crustacea,  and  Polypes 
found  on  the  shore,  nearly  all  new  to  him. 

In  February  he  made  his  first  visit  to  Scotland,  to 
deliver  before  the  Philosoi)hical  Institute  at  Edinburgh 
four  lectures  on  the  "  Schools  of  Alexandria."  lie  writes 
to  his  wife,  "Tlic  lecture  went  off  well.  I  was  dread- 
fully nervous,  ami  actually  cried  with  fear  up  in  my  rooni 
beforehand ;  but  after  praying  I  recovered  myself,  and  got 
through  it  very  well,  being  much  cheered  and  clapped." 


276  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

When  his  wife  was  saddened  on  account  of  debts  in- 
curred through  illness,  Mr.  Kingsley  cheered  her  with 
his  brave  heart.  "  To  pay  them,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
thouglit,  I  have  written,  I  have  won  for  us  a  name 
which,  please  God,  may  last  among  the  names  of  English 
writers.  ...  So  out  of  evil  God  brings  good ;  or,  rather, 
out  of  necessity  He  brings  strength  .  .  .  and  the  mean- 
est actual  want  may  be  the  means  of  calling  into  actual 
life  the  possible  but  sleeping  embryo  of  the  very  noblest 
faculties." 

In  the  winter  of  1851  Kingsley  wrote  "Brave  Words 
to  Brave  Soldiers,"  several  thousand  copies  of  which 
were  distributed  among  the  suffering  soldiers  before 
Sebastopol  in  the  Crimea;  also  his  novel,  "Westward 
Ho!" 

Many  letters  of  appreciation  came  after  the  publica- 
tion of  this  book.  A  naval  officer  wrote  fl-om  Hong 
Kong,  "  Among  the  many  blessings  for  which  I  have 
had  to  thank  God  this  night,  the  most  special  has  been 
for  tlie  impressions  produced  by  your  noble  sermon  of 
'  Westward  Ho  ! '  Some  months  ago  I  read  it  for  the 
first  time,  then  sailed  on  a  long  cruise;  and  now  on 
returning  have  read  it  again  with  prayer  that  has  been 
answered,  for  God's  blessing  has  gone  with  it." 

Kingsley  gave  lectures  in  Lorulon  before  the  Working 
Men's  College,  and  a  series  to  women  interested  in  labor- 
ers. To  the  latter  he  said,  "  Instead  of  reproving  and 
fault-finding,  encourage.  In  God's  name  encourage ! 
They  scramble  through  life's  rocks,  bogs,  and  thorn- 
brakes  clumsily  enough,  and  have  many  a  fall,  poor 
things ! " 

As  to  teaching  boys,  he  said,  "  It  will  be  a  boon  to 
your  own  sex,  as  well  as  to  our.s",  to  teach  them  courtesy. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  211 

self-restraint,  reverence  for  physical  weakness,  admira- 
tion of  tenderness  and  gentleness  ;  and  it  is  one  which 
only  a  lady  can  bestow.  .  .  .  There  is  a  latent  chivalry, 
doubt  it  not,  in  the  heart  of  every  untutored  clod." 

In  the  summer  of  1856,  when  he  was  tliirt^'-seven, 
Kingsley  spent  a  happy  vacation  with  Mr.  Thomas 
Hughes  and  ]VIr.  Tom  Taylor  at  Snowdon,  Wales,  wliich 
resulted  in  the  writing  of  "  Two  Years  Ago." 

In  June,  1857,  Kingsley  writes  to  his  friend  Thomas 
Hughes,  "  Eight  and  thirty  years  old  am  I  this  day, 
Tliomas,  wliereof  twenty-two  were  spent  in  pain,  in 
woe,  and  vanities,  and  sixteen  in  very  great  happiness, 
such  as  few  men  deserve,  and  I  don't  deserve  at  all.  .  .  . 
Well,  Tom,  God  has  been  very  good  to  me.  .  .  .  The 
best  work  ever  I've  done  has  been  my  plain  parish 
work." 

Diphtheria,  then  a  new  disease  in  England,  ap})eared 
at  Eversley.  "  Some  might  have  smiled,"  says  Mrs. 
Kingsley,  at  seeing  her  husband  "  going  in  and  out  of 
the  cottages  with  great  bottles  of  gargle  under  his 
arm." 

The  earnest  preaching,  the  lectures,  the  books  and 
correspondence,  continued.  Many  guests  came  now  to 
Eversley,  —  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  and  others  from 
America,  where  his  literary  woi'k  seemed  at  iirst  more 
appreciated  than  at  home  ;  Miss  Ihrnier,  the  Swedisli 
novelist,  who  after  she  went  home  sent  hinr  Tegner's 
"  Frithiors  Saga,""  with  this  inscrij)tion:  "To  the  \'ikiiig 
of  the  New  Age,  Charles  Kingsley.  this  story  of  the 
Vikings  of  the  Old,  from  a  daughter  of  the  A'ikings,  his 
friend  and  admirer,  Fredrika  Bremer." 

Dean  Stanley  came  ;  ^lax  Miiller  also,  and  spent  the 
first  week  of  his  married  life  at  the  rectory  —  lie  had 


278  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

married  a  beloved  niece  of  Kingsley's,  the  G.  to  whom 
he  wrote  the  poem,  — 

"  A  hasty  jest  I  once  let  fall." 

When  Kingsley  was  forty,  he  preached  for  the  first 
time  before  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert  at  Buckingham 
I'alace,  and  was  soon  made  one  of  Her  Majesty's  cliap- 
lains.  He  preached  at  the  Chapel  lloyal,  St.  James's, 
and  before  the  Court  in  the  private  chapel  at  Windsor 
Castle.  From  this  time  onward  he  received  the  utmost 
consideration  and  a})preciation  from  the  royal  houseliold. 
Having  been  made  Professor  of  Modern  History  at  Cam- 
bridge, which  position  lie  filled  admirably  for  nine  years, 
he  was  requested  by  the  Prince  Consort  to  give  private 
lectures  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who  had  just  left  Oxford. 
The  Prince  came  to  Mr.  Kingsley's  house  three  times  a 
week,  twice  with  the  class,  and  every  Saturday  to  go 
over  the  week's  work  alone. 

Every  now  and  then  Mr.  Kingsley,  from  his  ardent 
nature,  broke  down  from  overwork.  Then  he  would  go 
with  his  wife  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  to  see  Tennyson  and 
his  wife,  or  with  James  Anthony  Froude  to  Ireland. 

Death  was  beginning  to  enter  the  family  circle.  His 
father  died  in  the  winter  of  18G0.  He  wrote  Mr. 
Maurice,  "  How  every  wrong  word  and  deed  toward 
that  good  old  man,  and  every  sorrow  I  caused  him,  rise 
up  in  judgment  against  one;  and  how  one  feels  that 
right-doing  does  not  atone  for  wrong-doing." 

In  the  spring  Charlotte,  Mrs.  Kingsley's  sister,  tlie 
wife  of  Froude,  was  laid  under  the  fir-trees  in  Evcrsley 
churchyard.  "Her  grave,"  says  Mrs.  Kingsley,  "was  to 
him  during  the  remainder  of  his  own  life  a  sacred  spot, 
where  he  would  go  almost  daily  to  commune  in  spirit 


CHARLES  KINGSLEV.  279 

■with  the  dead,  where  flowers  were  always  kept  blooming, 
and  where  on  the  Sunday  morning  he  would  himself 
superintend  the  decorations,  —  the  cross  and  wreaths  of 
choice  flowers  placed  by  loving  hands  upon  it.  Prince 
Albert  died  in  18G1,  a  great  personal  loss  to  Kingsley,  as 
to  all  England. 

In  the  spring  of  1862  "The  Water-babies"  was  written, 
and  dedicated  to  his  youngest  son,  Grenville  Arthur, 
then  four  years  old,  named  after  liis  godfather.  Dean 
Stanley,  and  Sir  Kichard  Grenvil,  one  of  the  heroes  of 
"  Westward  Ho  !  "  from  whom  Mrs.  Kingsley 's  family 
claimed  descent. 

The  strange  experiences  of  poor  little  Tom,  the  chim- 
ney-sweep, after  he  left  the  hard  work  in  the  chimneys, 
under  his  brutal  master.  Grimes,  to  enjoy  the  Avonders  of 
the  sea,  as  a  water-baby,  are  most  amusing  and  graphic. 
The  book  has  always  had  a  great  circulation. 

Three  years  after  this.  Queen  Emma  of  the  Hawaiian 
Islands  spent  two  days  at  the  Eversley  Rectory.  She 
said  to  Mrs.  Kingsley,  "It  is  so  strange  to  me  to  be 
staying  with  you  and  to  see  Mr.  Kingsley.  My  husband 
read  your  husband's  '  Water-babies '  to  our  little  prince." 
On  her  return  she  sent  to  Mr.  Kingsley  the  Prayer 
Book  in  Hawaiian,  translated  by  her  husband,  King 
Kamehameha  IV. 

Kingsley  did  not  forget  how  hard  it  bad  been  for  an 
unknown  tiuthor  to  find  a  publisher.  ]\Ir.  Charles  Henry 
IVnnett,  a  man  of  genius,  but  struggling  with  poverty, 
had  illustrated  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  but  could  get  no  one 
to  take  it.  Kingsley  wrote  a  preface,  and  Messrs.  Long- 
man at  once  undertook  to  bring  it  out.  Thus  did  the 
noble  man  help  artist  and  author,  tramp  and  sick  laborer, 
seeker  after  knowledge  or  after  the  comfort  of  the  gospel. 


280  CUARLES  KINGSLEY. 

In  18G3  Kingsley  was  made  a  Fellow  of  the  Geological 
Society,  proposed  by  his  friend  Sir  Charles  Bunbury, 
and  seconded  by  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  He  was  already  a 
Fellow  of  the  Linnean  Society.  His  name  was  proposed 
for  the  degree  of  D.C.L.  at  Oxford  by  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  but  was  withdrawn  on  account  of  opposition  from 
the  extreme  High  Church  party. 

He  now  gave  lectures  to  the  boys  at  Wellington  Col- 
lege, to  which  his  son  Maurice  had  gone,  and  assisted 
them  in  forming  a  museum  ;  he  brought  out  a  volume  of 
poems  and  one  or  two  volumes  of  sermons.  No  wonder 
he  failed  in  health,  and  was  ol)liged  to  go  to  France  with 
Froude,  the  latter  going  on  into  Spain  for  historical 
work. 

The  labors  of  the  devoted  preacher  and  author  in- 
creased year  after  year.  Impressed  more  than  ever  with 
the  monotonous  life  of  the  English  laborer  and  his  hard- 
worked  wife,  Kingsley  started  Penny  Readings  for  the 
people,  and  village  concerts,  in  which  friends  from 
London  helped. 

He  attended  the  national  science  meetings ;  he  preached 
in  Westminster  AV)bey  ;  he  brought  out  a  series  of  papers 
for  children  on  natural  science,  called  *'  Madam  How  and 
Lady  Why  ;  "  he  read  sixteen  volumes  of  Comte's  works 
in  preparation  for  his  Cambridge!  lectures  —  he  had  al- 
ready given  a  course  on  the  History  of  America. 

In  18G9  he  was  appointed  Canon  of  Cliester.  Here  he 
started  a  class  in  botany,  —  a  walk  and  a  field  lecture 
were  enjoyed  once  a  week  by  a  hundred  or  more  persons, 
—  which  has  resulted  in  the  Chester  Natural  History 
Society,  with  about  six  hundred  members.  He  also  gave 
many  geological  lectures.  "The  Soil  of  the  Field," 
"  The  Pebbles  in  the  Street,"  ''  The  Stones  in  the  Wall," 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  281 

"  The  Coal  in  the  Fire,"  "  The  Lime  in  the  Mortar," 
"  The  Slates  on  the  Roof,"  were  published  in  a  book 
called  "  Town  Geology."  How  broadened  would  be  the 
minds  of  many  in  our  congregations,  especially  the  minds 
of  our  young  men  and  women,  if  more  of  our  ministers 
would  teach  the  wonders  of  the  world  in  whicli  Ave  live ! 

Kingsley  was  made  President  of  the  Education  Sec- 
tion of  the  Social  Science  Congress  at  Bristol,  and  one 
hundred  thousand  copies  of  his  valuable  inaugural  ad- 
dress were  distributed.  At  this  Congress  he  met  Dr. 
Elizabeth  Blackwell  from  America,  and  she  become  a 
welcome  guest  at  Eversley.  He  was  an  ardent  advocate 
of  medical  education  for  Avomen. 

He  wrote  to  John  Stuart  INIill  that  his  "  Subjection  of 
Woman  "  seemed  to  him  "  unanswerable  and  exliaustive, 
and  certain,  from  its  moderation  as  Avell  as  from  its  bold- 
ness, to  do  good  service  in  this  good  cause."  .  ,  . 

After  a  journey  with  his  daughter  to  the  West  Indies, 
from  which  came  his  book,  ''  At  Last,"  he  returned  to 
Ids  multifarious  duties.  As  President  of  the  Midland 
Institute  at  Birmingham,  he  spoke  on  the  Science  of 
Health.  As  a  result,  a  manufacturer  gave  £2,500  to 
found  classes  and  lectures  on  Human  Physiology  and 
the  Science  of  Healtli,  believing  that  physical  improve- 
ment woidd  be  followed  by  mental  and  moral  improve- 
ment. 

In  the  spring  of  1873  ^[r.  Gladstone,  with  the  sanction 
of  the  Queen,  asked  Kingsley  to  become  Canon  of  West- 
minster. His  aged  mother,  now  eiglity-six,  wlio  had 
made  her  liome  at  Eversley  since  the  death  of  her  1ms- 
band,  lived  long  enough  to  rejoice  in  his  appointment  to 
the  Abbey,  and  died  April  16. 

The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  welcomed  him  heartily. 


282  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

"It  is  a  great  spliere,"  he  wrote,  "for  a  man  who,  like 
you,  knows  how  to  use  it." 

But  those  who  knew  him  best  had  grave  fears  that  he 
would  not  long  fill  the  place.  He  was  urged  to  make  a 
sea  voyage,  and  with  his  daughter  Kose  started  for 
America  in  January,  1874,  taking  with  him  a  few  lectures, 
to  meet  his  expenses. 

They  landed  Feb.  11,  in  New  York.  His  daughter 
Avrote  home  to  the  anxious  mother,  "Before  my  father 
set  foot  on  American  soil,  he  had  a  foretaste  of  the  cor- 
dial welcome  and  generous  hospitality  which  he  experi- 
enced everywhere,  without  a  single  exception,  throughout 
the  six  months  he  spent  in  the  United  States  and  Can- 
ada. The  moment  the  ship  warped  into  her  dock,  a 
deputation  from  a  literary  club  came  on  board,  took 
possession  of  us  and  our  baggage." 

Mr.  Kingsley  Avrote  home  Feb.  12,  "  As  for  health, 
this  air,  as  poor  Thackeray  said  of  it,  is  like  champagne. 
Sea  air  and  mountain  air  combined  ;  days  already  an  hour 
longer  than  in  J^ngland,  and  a  blazing  hot  sun  and  blue 
sky.  It  is  a  glorious  country,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  the 
people  being  proud  of  it.  .  .  .  I  dine  with  the  Lotus 
Club  on  Saturday  night,  and  then  start  for  Boston  with 
li.,  to  stay  witli  Fields  next  week." 

He  to(jk  great  interest  in  Salem  and  Cambridge.  He 
dined  with  Longfellow,  whom  he  greatly  admired. 
"Dear  old  Whittier  called  on  me,  and  we  had  a  most 
loving  and  like-minded  talk  about  the  other  world,"  lie 
writes  home.  "He  is  an  old  saint.  This  morning  I 
have  spent  chiefly  with  Asa  Gray  and  his  plants,  so  that 
we  are  in  good  company." 

In  New  York  he  met  William  Cullen  Bryant;  was  en- 
tertained by  that  considerate  and  lovely  friend  to  every- 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  283 

body,  the  late  Mrs.  Botta ;  spoke  in  the  Opera  House 
at  Philadelphia  to  nearly  four  thousand  persons,  the 
aisles  crowded  ;  received  cordial  welcome  from  President 
Grant,  and  from  the  scientific  men  at  the  Smithsonian 
Institute  in  Washington  ;  talked  with  Charles  Sumner  an 
hour  before  he  was  seized  with  his  fatal  illness ;  visited 
Mark  Twain  at  Hartford,  Conn. ;  preached  in  Baltimore 
to  a  large  congregation  ;  stopped  on  his  way  West  at 
Niagara,  where  he  longed  for  his  wife  "to  sit  with  him, 
and  simply  look  on  in  silence  whole  days  at  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  form  and  color." 

Then  with  a  party  of  several  English  and  Americans, 
in  a  I'ullman  ear,  Kingsley  and  his  daughter  journeyed 
to  California.  He  preaclied  at  Salt  Lake  City  to  a 
crowded  congregation.  The  scenery  everywhere  de- 
lighted him.  "  The  flowers,"  lie  wrote,  "are  ex(piisite, 
yellow  ribs  over  all  tlie  cliffs,  etc.,  and  make  one  long  to 
jump  off  the  train  every  five  minutes,  while  the  geol- 
ogy makes  one  stand  aghast ;  geologizing  in  Enghind  is 
child's  play  to  this." 

Again  he  preached  in  the  Yosemite.  The  Dean  of 
Westminster  in  tlie  old  Abbey  said  that  Kingsley,  "who 
is  able  to  combine  tlie  religious  and  scientific  aspects  of 
nature  better  than  any  man  living,  is  on  this  very  day, 
and  perliaps  at  tliis  very  hour,  i)reaching  in  the  most 
beautiful  spot  on  tlu;  face  of  the  earth,  wliere  tlie  glories 
of  nature  are  revealed  on  the  most  gigantic  scale, —  in 
that  wonderful  Californian  Valley,  to  whose  trees  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon  are  l)ut  as  the  hyssop  that  groweth  out 
of  the  wall,  —  where  water  and  forest  and  sky  conjoin  to 
make  \ij),  if  anywhere  on  the  globe,  an  (uirthly  paradise." 

Mr.  Kingsley  was  ill  of  ]»leurisy  for  sonu>  time  in  Cali- 
fornia.    He  began  to  long  for  home.     "  I  am  very  home- 


284  CHARLES  KING8LEY. 

sick,"  he  writes  to  his  vAie,  "  and  counting  the  days  till 
I  can  get  back  to  you." 

He  returned  to  Eversley  in  August,  and,  as  there  was 
much  sickness,  began  at  once  his  self-sacrificing  ministra- 
tions. He  preached  his  last  sermon  in  the  Abbey  Nov. 
29,  with  great  fervor.  Dec.  3  he  and  his  wife  went  to 
Eversley,  where  she  Avas  taken  very  ill.  AVlien  told 
that  there  was  no  hope  for  her,  he  said,  "  M}'  own  death- 
warrant  was  signed  with  those  words." 

He  cared  for  her  tenderly,  and  on  Dec.  28  was  stricken 
with  pneumonia.  He  had  been  warned  that  he  must  not 
leave  his  room,  as  a  change  of  temperature  would  prove 
fatal ;  but  one  day  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  came  to  his 
wife's  room  for  a  few  moments,  and,  taking  her  hand  in 
his,  said,  "  This  is  heaven,  don't  speak ; "  but  soon  a 
severe  fit  of  coughing  came  on :  he  went  back  to  his  l)ed, 
and  they  never  met  again. 

A  correspondence  was  kept  up  for  a  few  days  in 
pencil,  but  tliis  became  too  painful.  Towards  the  last 
he  said,  "No  more  fighting — no  more  fighting,"  and 
then  he  prayed  earnestly.  Again  he  murmured,  "  How 
beautiful  God  is  ! " 

For  two  days  he  sent  no  messages  to  his  wife,  thinking 
that  she  had  gone  before  him.  He  said  to  the  nurse  wlio 
cared  for  them  botli,  "  I,  too,  am  come  to  an  end  ;  it  is 
all  right —  all  as  it  should  he." 

His  last  words  were  the  Burial  Service,  "  Shut  not 
Thy  merciful  ears  to  our  prayers  .  .  .  suffer  us  not,  at 
our  last  hour,  from  any  pains  of  death,  to  fall  from 
Thee."  On  Jan.  23,  1875,  without  a  struggle,  liis  life 
went  out. 

Dean  Stanley  telegraphed,  "  The  Abbey  is  open  to  the 
Canon  and  the  Poet ; "  but  Kingsley  had  said,  "Go  where 


CHARLES  KING8LEY.  285 

I  will  in  this  hard-working  world,  I  shall  take  care  to  get 
my  last  sleep  in  Eversley  churchyard;"  and  under  the 
fir-trees  he  was  buried. 

A  great  crowd  of  all  classes  stood  around  that  open 
grave,  and  later,  little  children  who  had  loved  the 
"  Water-babies "  came  often  and  laid  flowers  upon  the 
mound. 

"Few  eyes  were  dry,"  says  Max  Miiller,  "when  he 
was  laid  in  his  own  gravel  bed,  the  old  trees  which  he 
had  planted  and  cared  for  waving  their  branches  to  him 
for  the  last  time.  .  .  .  He  will  be  mourned  for,  yearned 
for,  in  every  place  in  which  he  passed  some  days  of  his 
busy  life." 

A  Memorial  Fund  was  at  once  raised  by  friends  in 
England  and  America.  Eversley  church  was  enlarged 
and  improved ;  at  Chester  a  prize  was  founded  in  con- 
nection with  the  Natural  History  Society ;  a  marble 
bust  of  him  i)laced  in  the  Cathedral  Chapter-house,  and 
a  stall  restored  in  the  Cathedral,  wliich  bears  his  name. 
In  Westminster  Abbey  a  marble  bust  of  Kingsley,  by  Mr. 
Woollier,  was  unveiled  Sept.  23,  1875,  with  appropriate 
services. 

INIrs.  Kingsley  survived  her  husband  sixteen  years, 
dying  at  Leamington,  Dec.  12,  1891,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-seven. 

His  daugliter  Rose,  and  Mary  who  married  the  Eev. 
William  Harrison,  are  both  authors,  the  latter  using  the 
name  "  Lucas  JNIalet."  Kingsley,  himself,  wrote  thirty- 
five  volumes. 

Charles  Kingsley  was  as  lovable  in  his  home-life  as  he 
Avas  brilliant  and  noble  in  his  public  career.  Said  an 
intimate  friend  of  him,  "To  his  wife — so  he  never 
shrank  from  affirming  in  deep  and  humble  thankfulness, 


286  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

—  he  owed  tlie  whole  tenor  of  his  life,  all  that  he  had 
worth  living  for.  It  was  true.  And  his  every  Avord  and 
look  and  gesture  of  chivalrous  devotion  for  more  than 
thirty  years  seemed  to  show  that  the  sense  of  boundless 
gratitude  had  become  part  of  his  nature,  was  never  out 
of  the  undercurrent  of  his  thoughts." 

His  son-in-law,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Harrison,  says,  "  Home 
was  to  him  the  sweetest,  the  fairest,  the  most  romantic 
thing  in  life ;  and  there  all  that  was  best  and  brightest  in 
him  shone  with  steady  and  purest  lustre." 

With  his  children  he  was  like  an  elder  brother.  He 
built  them  a  little  house,  where  they  kept  books  and  toys 
and  tea-things,  and  where  he  often  joined  them,  bringing 
some  rare  flower  or  insect  to  show  them.  He  was 
ahvays  cheerful  with  them  and  his  aged  mother.  He 
used  to  say,  "  I  wonder  if  there  is  so  much  laughing  in 
any  other  home  in  England  as  in  ours." 

Corporal  punishment  was  never  allowed  in  his  home. 
''More  than  half  the  lying  of  children,"  he  said,  "is,  I 
believe,  the  result  of  fear,  and  the  fear  of  punisliment." 

He  was  especially  tender  to  animals.  "His  dog 
Dandy,"  says  his  wife,  "  a  fine  Scotch  terrier,  was  his 
companion  in  all  his  parish  walks,  attended  at  the  cot- 
tage lectures  and  school  lessons,  and  was  his  and  the 
cliildren's  friend  for  thirteen  years.  He  lies  buried 
under  the  great  fir-trees  on  tlie  rectory  lawn,  with  this 
inscription  on  his  gravestone,  '  Fideli  Fideles ; '  and  close 
by,  'Sweep,'  a  magnificent  black  retriever,  and  'Victor,'  a 
favorite  Teckcl  given  to  him  by  the  Queen,  Avith  which 
he  sat  up  during  the  two  last  suffering  nights  of  the 
little  creature's  life." 

Cats,  too,  were  his  especial  delight,  a  white  one  and  a 
black.      "His   love   of   animals,"   says   Mrs.    Kingsley, 


CHARLES  KINGSLET.  287 

"  was  strengthened  by  his  belief  in  their  future  state  — 
a  belief  which  he  held  in  common  with  John  Wesley 
and  many  other  remarkable  men.  On  the  laAvn  dwelt  a 
family  of  natter-jacks  (running  toads),  who  lived  on 
from  year  to  year  in  the  same  hole  in  the  green  bank, 
Avhich  the  scythe  was  never  allowed  to  approach.  He 
had  two  little  friends  in  a  pair  of  sand-wasps,  who  lived 
in  a  crack  of  the  window  in  his  dressing-room,  one  of 
which  he  had  saved  from  drowning  in  a  hand-basin,  tak- 
ing it  tenderly  out  into  the  sunshine  to  dry ;  and  every 
spring  he  would  look  out  eagerly  for  them  or  their  chil- 
dren, Avho  came  out  of,  or  returned  to,  the  same  crack." 

His  guests  were  one  day  amused  when  his  little  girl 
opened  her  hand  and  begged  him  to  "  look  at  this  de- 
lightful  worm." 

Mr.  Harrison  tells  this  characteristic  incident.  One 
Sunday  morning,  in  passing  from  the  altar  to  the  pulpit, 
he  disappeared,  and  was  searcliing  for  something  on  tlie 
ground,  which  he  carried  into  the  vestry.  It  was  found 
later  that  he  had  discovered  a  beautiful  butterfly,  which, 
being  lame,  he  feared  woidd  be  trodden  upon.  Thus 
great  in  all  little  humanities  was  the  great  preacher  of 
Eversley  and  Westminster  Abbey. 

His  life  was  like  his  own  poem,  — 

"lie  good,  swt'ot  maid,  and  let  who  will  bo  nlevcr; 
Do  noble  things,  not  dn\ini  thcui,  all  day  long: 
And  so  make  lifo,  death,  and  that  vast  forever, 
One  grand,  sweet  song." 


GENERAL 
WILLIAM   TECUMSEH   SHERMAN. 


I  IKE  Grant,  Sherman  was  born  in  Ohio;  the  former 
^  in  a  log  liouse  at  Mt.  Pleasant,  1822,  the  latter  at 
Lancaster,  Feb.  8,  1820. 

His  ancestor,  Edmund  Sherman,  came  from  Dedham, 
England,  to  Massachvisetts,  with  his  three  sons,  in  1G34. 
From  his  son  Samuel,  Avho  was  one  of  the  original  pro- 
prietors of  Woodbury,  Conn.,  came  the  noted  general, 
through  a  line  of  ministers  and  lawyers. 

The  grandfather,  Taylor  Sherman,  was  a  judge  in 
Norwalk,  Conn.,  and  one  of  the  commissioners  appointed 
by  the  State  to  go  to  Huron  and  Erie  Counties,  Ohio,  to 
settle  some  land  matters  with  regard  to  the  Indians.  He 
received  two  sections  of  land  for  his  services. 

His  wife,  Betsey,  was  a  woman,  saj's  E.  V.  Smalley,  in 
the  Century  for  January,  1884,  '*of  uncommon  strength 
of  character,  who  was  always  called  on  to  give  advice 
in  times  of  trouble  to  her  whole  circle  of  relatives 
and  descendants  —  a  strong-willed,  intelligent,  managing 
woman.  ...  To  Grandmother  Betsey  might  be  attrib- 
uted the  talent  of  the  later  members  of  the  family." 

Her  son  Charles,  admitted  to  the  bar  at  twenty,  mar- 
ried Mary  Hoyt,  and  soon  went  to  Lancaster,  Ohio.  He 
returned  in  a  year,  and  took  his  young  wife  and  baby 

288 


U  I 


WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN. 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN.     289 

over  six  hundred  miles  on  horseback  to  the  new  home  in 
the  West,  Avhere  ten  other  chiklren  were  born,  the  eleven 
comprising  six  boys  and  five  girls. 

The  third  son,  William,  was  named  Tecumseh  after 
the  famous  Indian  chief,  who  died  at  the  battle  of  Tippe- 
canoe. When  the  child  was  four  years  old,  the  father 
was  appointed  a  judge  of  the  supreme  court  of  Ohio,  but 
died  suddenly  in  Lebanon  while  on  the  bench,  after  he 
had  held  the  position  for  five  years. 

Mrs.  Sherman  found  her  home  full  of  children,  with  an 
annual  income  of  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
with  which  to  support  them.  Her  husband  had  been 
loved  for  his  genial  nature  and  his  generous  heart,  so  that 
friends  were  not  wanting  to  help  the  young  mother  bear 
her  burdens. 

John,  the  now  well-known  senator,  was  sent  to  an 
uncle  in  Mount  Vernon,  another  to  a  friend  in  Cincinnati, 
and  Tecumseh  to  the  home  of  the  Hon.  Thomas  Ewing, 
a  prominent  United  States  Senator  from  Ohio. 

The  lad  of  nine  attended  the  village  schools  till  he  was 
sixteen,  when,  through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Ewing,  he 
entered  tlie  Military  Academy  at  West  Point.  He' had 
no  love  for  warlike  pursuits,  but  looked  forward  to 
becoming  a  civil  engineer  in  the  far  West. 

He  had  all  along  cared  for  history,  travel,  and  fiction, 
but  never  especially  for  battles.  He  enjoyed  out-door 
sports,  and  long  rambles  with  rod  and  gun.  He  studied 
well  wliile  at  West  Point,  standing  high  in  drawing, 
chemistr}',  mathematics,  and  philosopliy,  reaching  the 
sixth  place  in  a  class  of  forty-three  at  his  graduation 
in  1840. 

He  Avas  never  fond  of  dis])lay,  and  had  no  relish  for 
the  minutiae  of  dress  and  drill.    '^  Men  who  have  success- 


290     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEE  SHERMAN. 

fully  conducted  great  campaigns,  and  fought  great  battles, 
have  not,"  says  Mr.  Smalley,  "  as  a  rule,  taken  much  in- 
terest in  the  polishing  of  buttons,  or  the  exact  alignment 
of  a  company  of  troops." 

Soon  after  graduating,  young  Sherman,  tall,  slender, 
with  aiiburn  hair  and  hazel  eyes,  a  second  lieutenant  in 
the  Third  Artillery,  was  sent  to  Florida  to  keep  in  check 
the  Seminole  Indians.  After  two  winters  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  Fort  Moultrie,  near  Charleston,  South  Carolina, 
as  first  lieutenant,  where  he  remained  for  four  years. 
Here  he  enjo^-ed  Southern  hospitality,  and  learned  the 
character  of  the  people  and  the  topography  of  the  coun- 
try, both  here  and  in  Georgia.  More  than  twenty  years 
later,  this  knowledge  Avas  invaluable  when  he  fought  his 
battles  at  Atlanta  and  made  his  immortal  March  to  the 
Sea. 

War  with  Mexico  Avas  threatening;  and  in  1840  Sher- 
man was  sent  to  New  York,  and  afterwards  to  Ohio,  as  a 
recruiting  officer.  When  he  heard  of  the  battles  of  Talo 
Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Palma,  May  8  and  9,  he  was  eager 
to  be  at  the  front :  recruiting,  as  he  says  in  his  memoirs, 
while  "  his  comrades  Avere  actually  fighting,  was  intol- 
erable." 

He  was  soon  ordered  to  California,  which  his  company 
reached,  after  a  voyage  of  nearly  two  hundred  days,  by 
way  of  Cape  Horn.  At  Ivio  Janeiro,  "the  beauty  of 
whose  perfect  harbor  words  will  not  describe,"  they  re- 
mained for  a  week,  and  the  young  Ohio  officer  enjoyed 
the  delights  of  travel.  He  saw  I)om  Pedro  and  his  Em- 
press, the  daughter  of  Louis  Pliilippe  of  France,  the 
Palace,  the  Botanic  Gardens,  tlie  Emperor's  coffee  plan- 
tation, where  tlie  coffee-tree  reminded  him  of  "  the  red 
haw-tree  of  Ohio;  and  the  berries  were  somewhat  like 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN.     291 

those  of  the  same  tree,  two  grains  of  coffee  being  ench)sed 
in  one  berry." 

At  Cape  Horn,  "  an  island  rounded  like  an  oven,  after 
which  it  takes  its  name  (prnos,  oven),"  they  were  followed 
by  Cape-pigeons  and  albatrosses  of  every  color.  At  Val- 
paraiso they  remained  ten  days,  and  enjoyed  large  straw- 
berries in  November.  The  last  of  January,  1847,  they 
entered  Monterey  Bay,  and  saw  live-oaks  and  low  adobe 
houses,  with  red-tiled  roofs,  amid  dark  pine-trees. 

The  camp  was  soon  established,  and  some  of  their  six 
months'  i)rovisions  hauled  up  the  hillside  in  the  old  Mex- 
ican carts  with  wooden  wheels,  "  drawn  by  two  or  three 
pairs  of  oxen  yoked  by  the  horns." 

They  brouglit  a  saw-mill  and  a  grist-mill  with  them  to 
the  new  country.  Living  was  cheap,  as  cattle  cost  but 
eight  dollars  and  fifty  cents  for  the  best,  or  about  two 
cents  a  pound. 

Sheruian  soon  met  Colonel  Fremont,  afterwards  a  can- 
didate for  the  Presidency,  General  Kearney,  and  otlier 
officers  noted  in  those  early  days  of  California.  San 
Francisco  was  called  Yerba  P)Uena,  and  Sherman  felt 
almost  insulted  when  asked  if  he  wished  to  invest  money 
in  land  "  in  such  a  horrid  place  as  Yerba  Buena." 

The  best  houses  were  single-story  adobes ;  the  popula- 
tion was  about  four  hundred,  mostly  Kanakas,  natives  of 
the  Hawaiian  Islands. 

Sh(U'man  si)ent  mucli  time  in  hunting  deer  and  bear  in 
the  mountains  back  of  the  Carmel  Mission,  and  could 
often  in  a  single  day  load  a  pack-mule  with  tlie  geese 
and  ducks  which  he  had  shot.  Tliese  geese  would  appear 
in  profusion  as  soon  as  the  fall  rains  caused  the  young 
oats  to  come  \ip. 

"The   seasons   in    ('alifornia,"    he    writes,    "are   well 


292     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEU  SHERMAN. 

marked.  About  October  and  November  the  rains  begin, 
and  the  whole  country,  plains  and  mountains,  becomes 
covered  with  a  bright  green  grass,  with  endless  flowers. 
The  intervals  between  the  rains  give  the  finest  weather 
possible.  These  rains  are  less  frequent  in  ^larch,  and 
cease  altogether  in  April  and  ^lay,  when  gradually  the 
grass  dies  and  the  Avhole  aspect  of  things  changes,  first 
to  yellow,  then  to  brown,  and  by  midsummer  all  is  burnt 
up,  and  dry  as  an  ash-leaf." 

The  "gold-fever"  broke  out  in  the  spring  of  1848. 
Thomas  Marshall  found  some  placer-gold  fifteen  miles 
above  Mormon  Island,  in  the  bed  of  the  American  Fork 
of  the  Sacramento  River.  He  had  worked  for  Captain 
Sutter  in  his  saw-mills,  and  seeing  this  gold  in  the  tail- 
race  of  the  saw-mill,  tried  at  first  to  keep  it  a  secret, 
after  telling  Sutter;  but  others  soon  found  the  yellow 
metal,  and  not  only  California,  but  the  whole  civilized 
world,  was  excited  over  the  discovery. 

Sutter's  saw  and  grist  mills  soon  went  to  decay.  Men 
earned  fifty,  a  hundred,  and  sometimes  thousands  of  dol- 
lars a  day,  if  they  found  a  "  pocket "  of  gold.  Prices  be- 
came fabulous.  Flour  and  bacon  and  other  eatables  sold 
for  a  dollar  a  pound.  A  meal  usually  cost  three  dollars. 
Miners  slept  at  night  on  tlie  ground.  All  day  they 
worked  in  cold  water  in  the  river-beds,  their  clothes  wet; 
but  no  complaints  were  heard. 

Soldiers  deserted  from  the  coast  to  join  the  gold-dig- 
gers. At  one  time  six  hundred  ships  were  anchored  at 
San  Francisco,  and  could  not  get  away  for  lack  of  crews. 
Sherman  and  his  officers  were  obliged  to  ])ay  three  hun- 
dred dollars  a  month  for  a  servant,  or  go  without,  as  tlieir 
own  pay  was  but  seventy  dollars  a  month.  Often  tliey 
did  their  own  work.     Sherman  cooked,  and  Lieutenant 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     293 

Orel  cleaned  the  dishes,  but "  was  deposed  as  a  scullion 
because  he  would  only  wi2)e  the  tin  plates  with  a  tuft  of 
grass,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,"  says  Sher- 
man; "whereas,  Warner  insisted  on  having  them  washed 
after  each  meal  with  hot  water.  Warner  was,  in  conse- 
quence, promoted  to  scullion,  and  Ord  become  the  hostler." 

Twice  Sherman  and  some  other  officers  visited  the 
mines,  being  obliged  to  cross  the  Sacramento  River  in 
an  Indian  dug-out  canoe.  The  unwilling  horses  and 
mules  were  driven  into  the  water,  following  the  one  led 
by  the  man  in  the  canoe.  When  across,  several  of  the 
frightened  creatures  escaped  into  the  woods,  where  they 
were  recovered  and  brought  back  by  the  Indians. 

The  winter  of  1848-41)  Avas  a  serious  one  to  the  thou- 
sands of  liomeless  men  and  women  who  had  come  to  seek 
their  fortunes  in  the  mountains.  Tlie  })resideiit  had  made 
the  gold-finding  the  subject  of  a  special  message  to  Con- 
gress, and  emigrants  were  pouring  into  California  by 
land  and  by  sea.  Of  course  there  was  much  hardship, 
much  disregard  of  law,  and  extremes  of  poverty  and 
Avealth. 

The  winter  of  1849-50  only  deepened  the  distress.  In 
crossing  the  })lains  and  mountains  many  animals  of  the 
emigrants  perished,  and  they  themselves  lacked  food. 
One  huiulred  thousand  dollars  Avere  used  to  buy  flour, 
bacon,  etc.,  for  these  people,  and  men  aiul  mules  were 
sent  out  by  General  I'ersifer  F.  Smith  to  meet  and  relieve 
them.  In  San  Francisco,  after  the  long  rains,  Sherman* 
says  :  "  I  liave  seen  mides  stumble  in  the  streets  and  drown 
in  the  licpiid  mud.  Montgomery  Street  liad  been  tilled  u]) 
with  brush  and  clay,  and  I  always  dreaded  to  ride  on 
horseback  along  it,  because  the  mud  was  so  deep  that  a 
horse's  legs  would  become  entangled  in  the  bruslies  be- 


204     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

low,  and  the  rider  was  likely  to  be  thrown,  and  drown  in 
the  mud." 

A  room  twenty  by  sixty  feet  for  a  store  or  gambling- 
saloon  rented  for  a  thousand  dollars  a  month.  Sherman 
took  a  share  in  a  store,  and  thereby  made  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  which  helped  him  to  live  with  these  exorbitant 
prices.  Later  he  made  about  six  thousand  dollars  in 
three  lots  in  Sacramento.- 

He  returned  East  in  January,  1850,  on  a  leave  of 
absence  for  six  months.  His  comrades  had  fought  great 
battles  in  Mexico,  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  share. 
"I  thought  it  the  last  and  only  chance  in  my  day,"  he 
writes,  "  and  that  my  career  as  a  soldier  was  at  an  end." 

He  visited  his  motlier,  then  living  at  Mansfield,  Ohio, 
and  on  the  1st  of  May,  ISoO,  married,  after  an  engage- 
ment of  some  years,  Miss  Ellen  IJoyle  Ewing,  daughter 
of  the  man  who  had  adopted  him  in  his  childliood.  Mr. 
Ewing  was  then  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  and,  of  course, 
the  wedding,  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue  in  Wasliington, 
was  a  brilliant  one.  President  Taylor  and  his  cabinet, 
Daniel  Webster,  Henry  Clay,  and  other  leaders  were  i)res- 
ent.  In  the  fall  of  1851  Sherman  was  made  a  captain 
in  the  Commissary  Department,  and  ordered  to  St.  Louis. 
The  following  year  he  was  sent  to  New  Orleans,  t<^)  which 
city  Mrs.  Sherman  went  with  her  two  children. 

Seeing  little  i)r()sp('ct  of  advancement  in  tiie  army,  in 
1853  Captain  Sherman  resigned  his  position,  and  became 
manager  of  a  bank  in  San  Francisco,  a  branch  of  a  house 
in  St.  Louis. 

On  his  way  to  California,  when  near  the  Pacific  coast, 
the  ship  Lewis  struck  on  a  reef,  and  all  came  near  los- 
ing their  lives.  Sherman,  with  his  usual  mastery  over 
circumstances,  sat  on  the  hurricane  deck  with  the  cap- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     295 

tain,  and  while  others  prayed,  or  called  for  help,  waited 
calmly,  and  was  among  the  last  to  leave  the  ship.  When 
all  were  safely  on  the  beach,  lie  scrambled  up  the  bluff, 
and  finally  saw  a  schooner  loaded  with  lumber,  on  which 
he  asked  a  passage  to  the  city  of  San  Francisco,  that  he 
might  send  help  to  the  wrecked. 

This  schooner  capsized,  and  Sherman  found  himself  in 
the  water,  mixed  up  with  planks  and  ropes,  steadily  drift- 
ing out  to  sea.  He  was  finally  picked  up  by  a  boat,  and 
as  soon  as  possible  he  sent  two  steamers  to  the  relief  of 
the  passengers  of  the  Lewis,  which  went  to  pieces  the 
night  after  they  got  off. 

In  the  unsettled  state  of  the  country,  the  bank  did 
not  prove  a  success,  and  was  closed  IVIay  1,  1857.  Mrs. 
Sherman  and  her  three  children,  Minnie,  Lizzie,  and 
Willie,  returned  to  Lancaster,  Ohio. 

For  a  time  Sherman  became  agent  in  New  York  for 
the  St.  Louis  house  ;  but  the  latter  failing  in  the  financial 
disturbances  of  the  country,  his  business  ventures  seemed 
at  an  end,  and  Sherman  returned  to  Lancaster,  July  28, 
1858. 

"I  was  then  perfectly  unhampered,"  he  says,  "but  the 
serious  and  great(n-  (pu^stion  remained,  what  was  I  to  do 
to  support  my  family,  consisting  of  a  wife  and  four  chil- 
dren, all  accustomed  to  more  than  the  average  comforts 
of  life?" 

Like  General  (Irant,  he  had  resigned  from  the  regular 
army  that  he  might  earn  enough  to  support  his  family. 
Banking  had  been  no  more  successful  tlum  Grant's 
leather  business. 

Two  sons  of  Mr.  Ewing  had  gone  to  Leavcnwortli, 
Kansas,  where  they  had  bought  some  land,  and  opened  a 
law  office.     They  offered  Shernuin  a  partnership,  as  he 


296     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEIl  SAEUMAN. 

had  read  law  considerably.  He  accepted  the  position, 
but  soon  found  that  he  did  not  earn  money  enough,  so 
began  to  manage  a  farm,  forty  miles  west  of  Leaven- 
worth, for  his  father-in-law. 

This  not  proving  more  remunerative  than  Grant's 
farming,  he  offered  himself  to  the  army  again  in  1859, 
feeling,  that  a  sure,  though  small,  amount  was  better  for 
his  family  than  the  uncertainties  of  business.  He  was 
soon  appointed  the  superintendent  of  a  military  college 
about  to  be  organized  at  Alexandria,  Louisiana. 

This  position  did  not  prove  an  easy  one.  The  building 
was  a  large  and  handsome  one  in  the  midst  of  four  hun- 
dred acres  of  pine-land,  but  there  was  not  a  table,  chair, 
or  black-board  ready  for  beginning.  Sherman  immedi- 
ately engaged  some  carpenters,  and  went  to  work  with 
his  usual  energy. 

Meantime,  the  slavery  question  bade  fair  to  rend  the 
Union  asunder.  South  Carolina  seceded  Dec.  20,  1860, 
and  Mississippi  soon  after.  In  the  middle  of  January, 
18C1,  Sherman  wrote  to  tlie  Governor  of  the  State:  "If 
Louisiana  withdraw  from  the  Federal  Union,  I  prefer  to 
maintain  my  allegiance  to  the  Constitution  as  long  as 
a  fiagment  of  it  survives,  ...  I  beg  you  to  take  im- 
mediate steps  to  relieve  me  as  superintendent,  tlie  mo- 
ment the  State  determines  to  secede,  for  on  no  earthly  acs 
count  will  I  do  any  act  or  think  any  thought  hostile  to,  or 
in  defiance  of,  the  old  (iovernment  of  tlie  United  States." 

Sherman  soon  came  North  and  visited  his  brother. 
Senator  John  Sherman.  I'oth  called  upon  Lincoln,  and 
the  rresident  asked  the  soldier  "  how  the  people  of  the 
South  were  getting  ahnig."  ^'  They  think,"  was  the  re- 
ply of  Sherman,  **  they  are  getting  along  swimmingly  — 
they  are  preparing  for  war." 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TEGUMSEII  SHERMAN.     297 

"  Oh,  well ! "  said  Lincoln,  ''  I  guess  we'll  manage  to 
keep  house." 

April  1,  through  the  influence  of  friends,  Sherman  was 
made  President  of  the  Fifth  Street  Railroad,  in  St.  Louis, 
at  a  salary  of  twenty-tive  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and 
moved  his  family  thither.  Five  days  later,  and  six  days 
before  the  attack  on  Sumter,  April  12,  1861,  he  .was 
asked  to  accept  the  chief  clerkship  of  the  War  Depart- 
ment, with  the  promise  that,  when  Congress  met,  he 
should  be  made  Assistant  Secretary  of  War.  This  offer 
he  declined,  as  he  had  already  moved  his  family  to  St. 
Louis,  and  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  change  his  position. 

He  wrote  later  to  Simon  Cameron,  Secretary  of  War, 
that  he  would  not  volunteer  for  three  months,  "  Because," 
said  he,  "  I  cannot  throw  mj  family  on  the  cold  charity 
of  the  world,''  but  for  a  three-years'  call,  good  servic^e 
might  be  done.  He  was  appointed  Colonel  of  the  Thir- 
teenth Regular  Infantry,  May  14,  1861,  and  again  his 
family  returned  to  Lancaster,  Ohio. 

The  war  feeling  had  been  greatly  intensified  at  the 
North  by  the  death  of  Colonel  E.  Elmer  Ellsworth,  a 
yoimg  man  of  twenty-four,  who  had  organized  a  body  of 
Zouaves  in  Chicago,  and  had  escorted  President  Lincoln 
to  Washington.  On  May  24,  when  the  Union  forces 
crossed  into  Virginia,  Ellswortli's  Zouaves  occupied  Alex- 
andria. A  part  of  the  troops  Avere  i)roce('ding  towards 
the  centre  of  the  town,  when  they  saw  a  secession  flag 
flying  from  the  Marshall  House. 

Ellsworth  ascended  to  the  roof  and  pidled  it  down. 
The  hotel  keeper,  James  T.  Jacks(m,  shot  him  through 
the  heart,  and  attempted  to  shoot  Private  Francis  E. 
Brownell.  who  was  with  Ellsworth.  Lrownell  at  once 
shot  Jackson  through  the  head. 


298     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

Brownell  died  at  Washington,  D.C.,  March  15,  1894. 

The  body  of  Colonel  Ellsworth  lay  in  state  in  the  East 
Room  of  the  White  House  for  several  hours.  President 
Lincoln,  and  indeed  the  whole  North,  were  deeply  affected 
by  his  death. 

Mr  Lincoln  soon  called  for  four  hundred  thousand  men 
and. four  hundred  million  dollars,  to  carry  on  the  war. 
Two  Confederate  armies  were  already  before  Wasliiugton ; 
one  at  Manassas  Junction  under  General  Beauregard,  the 
other  at  Winchester  under  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston. 

General  Irvin  S.  McDowell,  aged  forty-three,  of  the 
Mexican  War  soldiers,  had  command  of  the  Union  forces, 
and  Sherman  held  a  brigade  under  him.  The  battle  of 
Bull  Run,  or  Manassas,  was  fought  Sunday,  July  21,  with 
a  loss  on  our  side  of  2,896,  and  on  the  Confederate  of 
1,982.     Over  thirty  thousand  men  Avere  in  each  army. 

General  John  D.  Imboden,  in  vol.  1  of  that  most  inter- 
esting and  valuable  series,  "  Battles  and  Leaders  of  the 
Civil  War,"  edited  by  Messrs.  Johnson  and  Buel,  tells 
the  following  incident  of  "  Stonewall "  Jackson  in  this 
battle.  He  had  been  wounded  in  the  hand,  but  paid  no 
attention  to  it,  binding  it  up  with  his  handkerchief,  say- 
ing, "  Only  a  scratch,  a  mere  scratch,"  and  galloped  along 
his  line.  Three  days  later  General  Imboden  found  him 
at  a  little  farm-house  near  Centreville.  Jackson  was 
bathing  liis  hand  at  sunrise,  in  spring  water.  It  was 
swollen  and  very  painful.  Mrs.  Jackson  had  already 
come  to  him.  "  General,"  said  Imboden,  "  how  is  it  that 
you  can  keep  so  cool,  and  appear  so  utterly  ins.ensible 
to  danger,  in  such  a  storm  of  shell  and  bullets  as  rained 
about  you  when  your  hand  was  hit  ?  "  referring  to  the 
Bull  Run  battle. 

"  Captain,"  he  said,  "  my  religious  belief  teaches  me  to 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEU  SHERMAN.     299 

feel  as  safe  in  battle  as  in  bed.  God  has  fixed  the  time 
for  my  death.  I  do  not  concern  myself  about  that,  but 
to  be  always  ready,  no  matter  when  it  may  overtake  me." 
After  a  pause,  he  said,  "  Captain,  that  is  the  one  way  all 
men  should  live,  and  then  all  would  be  equally  brave." 

Imboden  apologized  for  the  use  of  profanity  on  the 
battle-field,  and  Jackson  simply  remarked,  ''Nothing  can 
justify  })rofanity." 

The  men  idolized  Jackson,  in  part  because  he  almost 
always  succeeded.  They  trusted  him  without  question- 
ing. "  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  was  once  asked  of  some 
of  his  troops. 

"We  don't  know,"  was  the  reply,  "but  old  Jack  does." 

"  It  is  now  generally  admitted,"  says  Sherman,  "that  it 
[the  Battle  of  Bull  Eun]  was  one  of  the  best  planned  bat- 
tles of  the  war,  but  one  of  the  worst  fought.  .  .  .  Xearly 
all  of  us  for  the  first  time  then  heard  the  sound  of  can- 
non and  muskets  in  anger,  and  saw  the  bloody  scenes 
common  to  all  battles,  witliAvhich  we  were  soon  familiar. 
W^e  had  good  organization,  good  men,  but  no  cohesion, 
no  real  dicipline,  no  respect  for  authority,  no  real  knowl- 
edge of  war.  Both  armies  were  fairly  defeated,  and 
whichever  had  stood  fast,  the  other  woidd  have  run." 

Thoiigh  the  Union  army  retreated  in  great  disorder, 
and  the  North  was  saddened  tliereby,  Slierman  and  some 
others  were  made  brigadier-generals  for  their  bi-avery. 

President  Lincoln  and  Seward  came  to  the  Union 
camps  soon  after  the  battle.  Lincoln  said,  in  his  homely 
fashion,  "We  lieard  tliat  you  liad  got  ovt'r  the  big  scare, 
and  we  thought  we  would  come  over  and  see  the  'bo^'s.'" 

lie  stood  U})  in  the  carriage  and  made  a  most  feeling 
address,  telling  them  how  much  devolved  upon  them,  and 
how  all  looked  for  brigliter  days.     When  they  b(^gan  to 


oOO     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN. 

cheer,  he  said,  "  Don't  cheer,  boys.  I  confess,  I  rather 
like  it  myself;  but  Colonel  Sherman  here  says  it  is  not 
military,  and  I  guess  we  had  better  defer  to  his  opinion." 

A  little  later  an  officer  who  had  attempted  to  go  to 
New  York  without  leave,  and  whom  Sherman  had  tlireat- 
ened  to  shoot  if  he  deserted  at  tliat  critical  time,  aj)- 
proached  the  President,  saying  that  he  had  a  grievance, 
and  that  Colonel  Sherman  had  threatened  to  shoot 
him. 

With  that  rare  good  sense  for  which  Lincoln  Avas 
famous,  and  knowing  that  his  leaders  must  be  supported 
in  authority,  he  bent  over  toward  the  aggrieved  officer, 
and  said  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  Well,  if  I  were  you,  and  he 
threatened  to  shoot,  I  would  not  trust  him,  for  I  believe 
he  would  do  it."  Sherman  afterwards  thanked  the  Pres- 
ident for  his  confidence. 

Soon  after  this  General  Sherman  was  assigned  to  the 
department  of  the  Cumberland,  under  General  Robert 
Anderson,  formerly  at  Fort  Sumter.  Anderson's  health 
failing,  Sherman  soon  took  his  place.  Mr.  Cameron,  Sec- 
retary of  War,  having  a  consultation  with  Sherman,  tlie 
latter  complained  that  lie  had  only  eighteen  thousand 
men,  whereas  two  hundred  tliousand  men  were  needed 
to  destroy  all  the  opposition  in  the  Mississippi  Valley. 

It  soon  came  out  in  the  papers  that  Sherman  was 
"  crazy,"  as  at  tliat  time  the  North  seemed  to  have  no 
adequate  idea  of  the  immensity  of  the  work  in  hand. 
The  succeeding  years  proved  that  Sherman  was  riglit  in 
his  estimate  of  the  power  and  purpose  of  the  South  in  its 
war  against  the  Union. 

Sherman  was  relieved  by  General  Buell,  and  the  "  in- 
sane" general  was  ordered  to  take  charge  of  a  Camp  of 
Instructiou.     Hurt  by  the  ci-uel  charge,  he  still  performed 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TEGUMSEII  SHERMAN.     301 

liis  diities  "  for  a  country  and  government,"  as  he  said, 
"  worth  lighting  for,  and  dying  for  if  need  be," 

Early  in  18G2  Grant  had  won  some  great  victories  at 
Forts  Henry  and  Donelson,  on  the  Tennessee  and  Cum- 
berland liivers.  The  latter  fort,  under  General  Ikick- 
ner,  surrendered  Feb.  16,  with  sixty-live  guns,  seventeen 
thousand  six  hundred  small  arms,  and  nearly  lifteeu 
thousand  troops. 

Major-Geueral  Grant  was  now  commanding  tlie  Army 
of  the  Tennessee  under  Halleck,  and  Sherman  Avas  as- 
signed to  a  division  under  Grant.  The  latter  held  about 
the  same  ''crazy"  idea  tluit  Sherman  held,  —  that  tlie 
Southerners  were  hard  and  brave  lighters,  and  would 
never  surrender  till  forced  to  it  through  exhaustion  of 
men  and  money. 

Tlie  next  great  battle  was  at  Shiloh,  or  Pittsburg 
Landing,  begun  by  the  Confederates  Sunday,  April  G, 
1802,  and  lasting  two  days.  The  first  day  our  men  were 
driven  back  a  mile  with  heavy  loss.  General  Albert 
Sidney  Johnston,  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  Con- 
federates, Avas  struck  about  2  p.m.  by  a  niinie-ball  in  the 
calf  of  the  leg,  which  penetrated  the  boot  and  severed 
the  main  artery.  His  horse  was  shot  in  four  places. 
He  would  not  leave  the  field  till  comi^elled  by  loss  of 
blood,  and  died  soon  after. 

]^r.  D.  W.  Yandell.  wlio  had  been  with  Johnston,  left 
him  to  establisli  a  hospital  for  the  wounded,  among  tlicm 
many  Federals.  "  These  men  were  our  enemies  a  mo- 
ment ago,"  said  fFohnston  ;  ''  they  are  our  ])ris()ners  now. 
Take  care  of  tliem."  Had  Yandell  remained  with  liiin, 
his  life  would  probably  liave  been  saved,  as  the  wound 
would  have  been  attended  to. 

"  During  the  whole  of  Sunday,"  says  Grant,  "  I  was 


302     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSBII  SHERMAN. 

contimially  engaged  in  passing  from  one  part  of  the  field 
to  another,  giving  directions  to  division  commanders. 
In  thus  moving  along  the  line,  I  never  deemed  it  impor- 
tant to  stay  long  with  Sherman.  Although  liis  troojis 
were  then  under  fire  for  the  first  time,  their  commander, 
by  his  constant  presence  with  them,  inspired  a  confidence 
in  officers  and  men  that  enabled  tliem  to  render  ser- 
vices on  that  bloody  battle-field  worthy  of  the  best  of 
veterans. 

"  A  casualty  to  Sherman  that  would  have  taken  him 
from  the  field  that  day  would  have  been  a  sad  one  for  the 
troops  engaged  at  Shiloh.  And  how  near  we  came  to 
this  !  On  the  Gth,  Sherman  was  shot  twice  —  once  in  the 
hand,  once  in  the  shoulder,  the  ball  cutting  his  coat  and 
making  a  slight  wound,  and  a  third  ball  passed  through 
his  hat.  In  addition  to  this,  he  had  several  horses  shot 
during  the  day." 

Later,  Colonel  James  B.  McPherson's  horse  was  shot 
quite  through,  just  back  of  the  saddle,  but  the  i)Oor  crea- 
ture carried  his  rider  out  of  danger  before  he  dropped 
dead. 

IJoth  armies  slei)t  on  their  arms  that  night  in  a  pour- 
ing rain,  and  the  next  morning,  April  7,  renewed  the 
fight,  with  a  hard  won  victory  for  the  Union  forces.  So 
dreadful  was  the  conflict  that  Grant  writes,  "  I  saw  an 
ojien  field,  in  our  possession  on  the  second  day,  over 
which  the  Confederates  had  made  repeated  charges  the 
day  before,  so  covered  with  dead  that  it  would  have  been 
possible  to  walk  across  the  clearing  in  any  direction, 
stepping  on  dead  bodies,  without  a  foot  touching  the 
ground.  ...  On  one  part,  which  had  evidently  not  been 
ploughed  for  several  years,  probably  because  the  land 
was  poor,  bushes  had  grown  up,  some  to  the  height  of 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     303 

eight  or  ten  feet.  There  was  not  one  of  these  left  stand- 
ing unpierced  ])y  bullets.  The  smaller  ones  were  all  cut 
down." 

Our  loss  in  killed,  wounded,  and  missing  was  13,573; 
the  Confederates  reported  their  loss  as  I0,()9y,  but  General 
Grant  thinks  it  was  much  greater. 

The  battle  had  been  bravely  and  desperately  fought  on 
both  sides.  About  five  hundred  yards  east  of  Shiloh 
meeting-house  there  had  been  a  deadly  combat.  Several 
times  cartridges  gave  out ;  but  Sherman  appealed  to  the 
regiments  to  "  stand  fast,"  as  their  retiring  would  have  a 
bad  effect  on  others,  and  the  men  heroically  kept  their 
posts.     Sherman's  division  lost  over  two  thousand  men. 

Grant  said,  in  his  official  report,  "  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  a 
gallant  and  able  officer,  Brigadier-General  W.  T.  Sherman, 
to  make  mention  tliat  he  was  not  only  with  his  command 
during  the  entire  two  days  of  action,  but  displayed  great 
judgment  and  skill  in  the  management  of  his  men." 

Halleck  said,  "  Sherman  saved  the  fortunes  of  the  day 
on  the  6th,  and  contributed  largely  to  the  glorious  victory 
on  the  7th." 

Wlien  on  the  8th  it  was  found  that  the  enemy  had 
retreated,  "  leaving  killed,  wounded,  and  much  property 
by  the  way,"  says  Sherman,  "  we  all  experienced  a  feel- 
ing of  relief.  The  struggle  had  been  so  long,  so  desperate 
and  bloody,  that  the  survivors  seemed  exliausted  and 
nerveless.  We  appreciated  the  value  of  the  victory,  but 
realized  also  its  great  cost  of  life." 

Sherman  was  promoted  to  the  jiosition  of  major-general 
May  1.  ])uring  June  and  July  lie  was  "•  building  rail- 
road-trestles and  bridges,  figliting  off  cavalry  detach- 
ments coming  from  the  South,  and  waging  an  everlasting 
quarrel  with  planters  about  the  negroes  and  fences,  tliey 


304     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEU  SHERMAN. 

trying,  in  the  midst  of  moving  armies,  to  raise  a  crop  of 
corn." 

The  desire  now  was  to  get  complete  possession  of  the 
Mississippi  River.  Admiral  Farragut  had  taken  New 
Orleans,  after  the  dreadful  passage  of  Forts  Jackson  and 
St.  Philip.  The  brave  old  admiral  had  said,  "  If  I  die  in 
the  attempt,  it  will  only  be  what  every  officer  lias  to 
expect.  He  who  dies  in  doing  his  duty  to  his  country, 
and  at  peace  with  his  God,  has  played  the  drama  of  life 
to  the  best  advantage." 

With  his  six  sloo})S-of-war,  sixteen  gunboats,  twenty- 
one  schooners,  and  five  other  vessels,  forty-eight  in  all, 
carrying  two  hundred  guns,  all  led  by  the  Hartford, 
Farragut  pushed  his  way  through  a  sea  of  fire.  Five 
fire-rafts  —  flat  boats,  filled  with  dry  wood  smeared  with 
tar  and  turpentine  —  blazed  among  his  ships,  while  shot 
and  shell  strewed  his  decks  with  the  dead;  but  he  cut 
his  Avay  to  victory,  and  won  immortal  honor. 

Memphis  had  been  captured  by  our  gunboats  and  rams, 
under  Admiral  Davis,  June  G.  Of  the  eight  Confeder- 
ate gunboats  in  the  flotilla,  throe,  the  Lovell,  Beauregard, 
and  Thom])son,  Avere  destroyed  by  our  vessels  ;  four  were 
captured  and  repaired  for  our  use ;  while  one,  the  Van 
Dorn,  escaped.  Five  transports  and  some  cotton  were 
taken,  and  a  large  ram  and  two  tugs  on  the  stocks  were 
destroyed. 

Sherman  was  ordered  to  go  to  iSfemphis  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  district  of  AVest  Tennessee.  When  he 
entered  the  city,  the  stores,  churches,  and  schools  were 
closed.  He  caused  these  and  the  places  of  amusement 
to  be  opened,  and  put  the  fugitive  slaves  to  work  on  the 
fortifications,  and  gave  them  food  and  clothing. 

The  story  is  told  of  an  Episcopal  clergyman  who  came 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEfl  SHERMAN.     305 

to  Sherman,  saying  that  he  was  embarrassed  about  his 
prayer  for  the  President. 

"  Whom  do  you  regard  as  President  ?  "  said  Sherman. 

"  Mr.  Davis,"  was  his  reply. 

"  Very  well ;  pray  for  Jeff  Davis  if  you  wish.  He 
needs  your  prayers  badly.  It  will  take  a  great  deal  of 
praying  to  save  him." 

<'  Then  I  will  not  be  compelled  to  pray  for  Mr.  Lin- 
coln ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  He  is  a  good  man,  and  don't  need  your 
prayers.  You  may  pray  for  him  if  you  feel  like  it,  but 
there's  no  compulsion." 

To  some  of  the  editors  in  Memphis,  Sherman  said, 
"  If  I  find  the  press  of  Mem})his  actuated  by  liigh  prin- 
ciple and  a  sole  devotion  to  their  country,  I  will  be  their 
best  friend ;  but  if  1  find  them  personal,  abusive,  dealing 
in  innuendoes  and  hints  at  a  blind  venture,  and  looking 
to  their  own  selfish  aggrandizement  and  fame,  then  they 
had  better  look  out ;  for  I  regard  such  persons  as  greater 
enemies  to  their  country  and  to  mankind  than  the  men 
who,  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  State  pride,  liave  taken  up 
muskets,  and  fight  us  about  as  hard  as  we  care  about," 

Slierman  went  to  the  Argus  office  one  day,  and,  in  his 
familiar  manner,  said  to  the  young  editors,  as  he  sat 
down  and  rested  his  feet  on  the  table  :  *'  I»oys,  I  have 
been  ordered  to  su])press  your  paper,  but  I  don't  like  to 
do  that.  I  just  dropped  in  to  warn  you  not  to  be  so  free 
with  y<mr  pencils.  If  you  don't  ease  up,  you'll  get  into 
trouble." 

When  some  comjdained  of  the  acts  of  the  soldiers, 
Sherman  replied  tliat  he  knew  of  several  instances  where 
their  conduct  had  been  provoked  by  sneering  remarks 
about  "Northern  barbarians"  and  "Lincoln's  hirelings." 


306     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

*'  People  who  use  such  language,"  he  said,  "  must  seek 
redress  through  some  one  else,  for  I  will  not  tolerate 
insults  to  our  country  or  cause." 

All  sorts  of  ruses  were  adopted  by  the  Southern  army 
to  obtain  things  from  Memphis.  While  General  Van 
Dorh  was  at  Holly  Springs,  he  desired  supplies  for  his 
men.  Some  of  our  soldiers  found,  in  a  farmer's  barn,  a 
large  hearse  with  pall  and  plumes,  which  had  l)een  used 
at  a  big  funeral.  It  Avas  filled  with  medicines  for  Van 
Dorn's  army !  "  It  was  a  good  trick,"  said  Sherman, 
"but  diminished  our  respect  for  such  pageants  after- 
ward." 

In  December  there  was  a  concerted  movement  by 
Grant  and  Sherman  to  capture  Vicksburg.  The  latter 
was  to  move  down  the  river,  and  with  Admiral  Porter's 
gunboats,  "  proceed,"  said  Grant,  "  to  the  reduction  of 
that  place  in  such  manner  as  circumstances  and  your 
own  judgment  may  dictate."  Sherman  was  to  make  the 
attack  by  land,  in  the  rear,  while  Porter  attacked  by 
river  front.  Three  divisions  of  Sherman's  army  were 
landed  in  the  low,  marshy  lands,  cut  by  the  Chickasaw 
Bayou  and  other  creeks,  where  a  slight  rise  in  the  Mis- 
sissippi River  wouhl  drown  them  all.  The  bluffs  of 
Waliuit  Hills,  on  which  Vicksburg  stands,  are  two  hun- 
dred feet  high,  and  impregnable. 

Against  these  tlie  fearless  troops  were  led  Dec. 
29,  with  great  slaughter.  De  Courcy's  brigade  of  Mor- 
gan's division,  and  Frank  Blair's  brigade  of  Steele's 
division,  with  the  Fourth  Iowa,  were  under  the  hottest 
fire.  De  Courcy  lost  700,  Blair  743,  and  the  Fourth 
Iowa  111  men  ;  the  Confederate  loss  was  oidy  about  187. 

Sherman  says,  "  The  men  of  the  Sixth  Missouri  actu- 
ally scooped  out  with  their  hands  caves  in   the  bank, 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN.     B07 

wliich  sheltered  tliem  against  the  five  of  the  eiieuiy,  who, 
riglit  over  their  heads,  hehl  their  muskets  outside  the 
parapet  vertically,  and  fired  down.  So  critical  was  the 
position,  that  we  could  not  recall  the  men  till  aftcn-  dark, 
and  then  one  at  a  time.  Our  loss  had  been  i)retty  heavy, 
and  we  had  accomplished  nothing." 

It  was  evident  that  Vicksburg  must  be  taken  in  some 
other  manner.  Grant  decided  to  cut  a  canal  across  the 
peninsula  opposite  Vicksburg,  that  he  might  get  below 
the  city.  All  through  January  and  February,  Sherman's 
men  were  digging  the  canal,  planned  to  be  sixty  feet  wide 
and  nine  feet  deep,  and  fighting  off  the  Mississippi, 
which  continued  to  rise,  and  threatened  to  drown  them. 
When  the  men  were  not  digging  canals,  they  were  clear- 
ing bayous,  which  were  filled  with  cypress  and  cotton- 
wood  trees.  Sometimes  they  marched  at  night  through 
canebrakes,  carrying  lighted  candles,  Sherman  walking 
with  them,  the  water  above  his  hips.  The  drummer- 
boys  carried  their  drums  on  their  heads,  and  the  men 
slung  their  cartridge-boxes  around  their  necks. 

Admiral  Porter,  from  his  gunboats,  used  to  send  Sher- 
man messages,  written  on  tissue  i)aper,  concealed  in  a 
piece  of  tobacco.  A  negro  carried  them  through  the 
swamps. 

Many  weeks  were  spent  on  other  canals,  but  all  proved 
useless.  Finally  it  was  decided  to  move  all  the  troo])s 
down  the  west  bank  of  the  river,  cross  over  below  Vicks- 
burg, and  attack  it  on  the  land  side. 

A  series  of  battles  followed  at  Fort  Gibson,  Ivaymond, 
Jackson,  Champion  Hills,  and  Big  I>lack.  Grant  had  in- 
flicted a  loss  upon  the  enemy  during  a  few  days  of  eight 
thousand  in  killed,  wounded,  and  missing ;  had  captured 
eighty-eight  pieces  of  their  artillery,  and  driven  them 


308     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

into  tlieir  defences  at  Vicksburg.  "  We  must  go  back  to 
the  campaigns  of  Napoleon,"  says  Francis  Vinton  Greene, 
lieutenant  of  engineers,  "  to  find  equally  brilliant  results 
accompanied  in  the  same  space  of  time  with  such  small 
loss." 

In  these  days  of  carnage,  incidents  even  amusing  hap- 
pened. While  Sherman  and  his  troops  were  at  Jackson, 
a  fat  man  came  to  him  and  hoped  tluit  his  hotel  would 
not  be  burned,  as  he  was  a  law-abiding  Union  man. 
Sherman  said  that  this  fact  was  manifest  from  the  sign 
on  his  hotel,  where  the  words  "  United  States "  had 
been  faintly  painted  out  and  "  Confederate  Hotel  " 
painted  over  it ! 

On  May  22  tlie  last  assault  was  made  on  Vicksburg ; 
and,  though  severe  and  bloody,  it  was  unsuccessful,  on 
account  of  the  strength  of  the  position,  and  the  earnest 
fighting  of  the  garrison. 

"  I  have  since  seen  the  position  at  Sevastopol,"  writes 
Sherman,  "and  without  hesitation  I  declare  that  at 
Vicksburg  to  have  been  the  more  difficult  of  the  two." 

It  was  during  this  dreadful  assault  that  the  drummer 
boy,  Orion  P.  Howe,  came  to  Sherman,  calling  out  in  a 
childish  voice  that  one  of  the  regiments  was  out  of 
ammunition,  and  must  abandon  its  position  unless  relief 
was  sent.  The  general  looked  down  from  his  horse  uj)on 
the  lad,  and  saw  the  blood  running  from  a  wound  in  the 
leg. 

"All  right,  my  boy,"  said  Sherman,  "I'll  send  them 
all  they  need ;  but  as  you  seem  to  be  badly  hurt,  you 
had  better  go  to  the  rear  and  find  a  surgeon  and  let  him 
fix  you  up." 

The  boy  saluted  and  started  for  the  rear ;  but  again  he 
came    running   back,  shouting,   "General,   calibre   fifty- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     309 

eight,  calibre  fifty-eight ! "  fearing  that  the  wrong  size 
might  be  sent,  and  prove  useless.  He  was  afterwards, 
through  Sherman,  appointed  a  cadet  at  the  Naval  Acad- 
emy, Annapolis. 

The  siege  of  Vicksburg  was  begun  at  once.  Mines 
were  dug  by  both  sides  and  exploded.  Chief  Engineer 
S.  IL  Lockett,  of  the  Confederates,  tells  how  a  private 
suggested  the  firing  of  a  wicker  case  filled  with  cotton, 
which  protected  the  Federals  in  their  sapping.  He  took 
a  piece  of  port-fire,  put  it  into  cotton  soaked  with  tur- 
pentine and  fired  it  from  an  old-fashioned  bore  musket. 
The  wicker  case  took  fire  and  burned  up.  l>arrels  of 
powder,  lighted  by  a  time-fuse,  were  thrown  into  the 
ranks  of  the  besiegers. 

As  the  weeks  went  by,  the  provisions  for  the  soldiers 
and  citizens  of  Vicksburg  were  well-nigh  consumed. 
They  ate  rats  and  mules.  Flour  was  five  dollars  a 
pound.  Some  of  the  people  built  rooms  in  the  yellow 
clay  banks,  and  thus  escaped  the  shells. 

The  soldiers  grew  desperate.  General  Pemberton 
hoped  they  could  cut  their  way  out,  and  caused  boats 
to  be  made  out  of  some  of  tlie  houses,  —  they  planned  to 
make  two  thousand,  —  which  they  could  use  in  their 
escape  down  the  river. 

Finally,  when  all  became  hojjeless,  remberton  said, 
"  Far  better  would  it  be  for  me  to  die  at  the  liead  of  my 
army,  even  in  a  vain  effort  to  force  tlie  enemy's  lines, 
than  to  surrender  it  and  live  and  meet  tlic  obloquy  wliich 
I  know  will  be  heaped  upon  me.  ]>ut  my  duty  is  to 
sacrifice  myself  to  save  tlie  army  wliich  has  so  nobly 
done  its  duty  to  defend  Vicksburg." 

July  4,  1803,  T*emberton  surrended  his  garrison  of  over 
thirty-one  thousand  men,  sixty  thousand  muskets,  and 
over  one  hundred  and  seventy  cannon. 


310     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

Grant  said  of  Slierman,  "His  untiring  energy  and 
great  efficiency  during  the  campaign  entitled  liim  to  a 
full  share  of  all  the  credit  due  for  its  success.  He  could 
not  have  done  more  if  the  plan  had  been  his  own." 

l^efore  sunset  of  July  4,  Sherman,  with  fifty  thousand 
men,  was  in  pursuit  of  Johnston,  who  had  been  trying  to 
aid  I'emberton.  Johnston  marched  rapidly,  driving  all 
cattle,  hogs,  and  sheep  into  the  ponds,  and  shooting  tliem, 
so  that  they  should  not  furnish  food  for  the  Fedei'als,  and 
also  to  spoil  the  water.  Johnston  made  a  stand  at  Jack- 
son, but  soon  evacuated  the  place. 

For  bravery  and  success  in  this  campaign.  Grant  was 
made  major-general  in  the  regular  army,  the  highest 
grade  then  allowed  by  law,  and  Sherman  and  McPherson 
brigadier-generals  in  the  regular  army. 

After  the  fall  of  Vicksburg,  Sherman's  family,  Mrs. 
Sherman,  Minnie,  Lizzie,  Willie,  and  Tom,  came  from 
Ohio  to  visit  him.  Willie  was  nine  years  old,  fond  of 
the  parade  of  war,  and  was  made  a  "  sergeant "  in  the 
regular  battalion.  He  became  ill  in  the  low  marshy 
country,  and  died  of  typhoid  fever,  just  after  tlie  family 
reached  the  Gayoso  Hotel  in  Memphis. 

This  death  was  a  great  blow  to  Sherman,  as  he  showed 
in  a  letter  whicli  he  wrote  to  Captain  C.  C.  Smith,  com- 
manding Battalion  Thirteenth  United  States  Regulars  : 
"  I  cannot  sleep  to-night  till  I  record  an  expression  of 
the  deep  feelings  of  my  heart  to  you,  arid  to  the  officers 
and  soldiers  of  tlie  battalion,  for  their  kind  beliavior  to 
my  i)Oor  child.  .  .  .  'I'lie  child  that  l)()re  my  name, 
and  in  whose  future  T  reposed  with  more  confidence  than 
I  did  in  my  own  plan  of  life,  now  being  carried  by 
steamer  a  mere  corpse,  seeking  a  grave  in  a  distant  land, 
with  a  weeping  mother,  brother,  and  sisters  clustered 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TEGUMSEII  SHERMAN.     311 

about  him.  For  myself  I  ask  no  sympathy.  On,  on  I 
must  go,  to  meet  a  soldier's  fate,  or  live  to  see  our  coun- 
try rise  superior  to  all  factions,  till  its  flag  is  adored  and 
respected  by  ourselves  and  by  all  the  powers  of  the 
earth.  ... 

"Child  as  he  was,  he  had  the  enthusiasm,  the  pure 
love  of  truth,  honor,  and  love  of  country,  which  should 
animate  all  soldiers.  .  .  .  Assure  each  and  all,  if  in 
after  years  they  call  on  me  or  mine,  and  mention  that 
they  were  of  the  Thirteenth  Regulars  when  Willie  was  a 
sergeant,  they  will  have  a  key  to  the  affections  of  my 
family  that  will  open  all  it  has  ;  that  we  will  share  with 
them  our  last  blanket,  our  last  crust !  " 

In  the  spring  of  1867,  Willie's  body  was  removed  from 
Lancaster,  Ohio,  to  St.  Louis,  and  buried  by  the  side  of 
another  child,  Charles,  born  in  1864.  Sherman's  officers 
and  men  erected  a  beautiful  monument  to  Willie,  and 
had  inscribed  on  it,  "  Our  little  Sergeant  Willie,  from  the 
First  Battalion  Thirteenth  United  States  Infantry." 

After  the  dreadful  battle  of  Chickamauga,  Ga.,  Sept. 
20,  1863,  in  which  we  lost  15,851  men,  and  the  Con- 
federates 17,804,  Grant  went  to  Chattanooga  to  retrieve 
that  disaster.  In  this  battle  Thomas,  "  who,"  says  Gen- 
eral Fullerton,  ''never  retreated  and  had  never  been 
defeated,"  so  wonderfully  held  his  ground  that  he  was 
ever  afterwards  called  tlie  *'I\ock  of  Chickamauga." 

*'Witli  but  twenty -five  thousand  men,"  said  (General 
Garfield,  "formed  in  a  semicircle,  of  which  he  himself 
was  the  centn^  and  soul,  he  successfully  resisted  for 
more  than  five  hours  the  repeated  assaults  of  an  army  of 
sixty-five  thousand  men,  flushed  with  victory  and  bent 
on  his  anniliilation. 

"Towards  the  close  of  the  day  his  ammunition  began 


312     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN. 

to  fail.  One  by  one  of  his  division  commanders  reported 
but  ten  rounds,  five  rounds,  and  two  rounds  left.  The 
calm,  quiet  answer  was  returned,  'Save  your  fire  for 
close  quarters,  and  when  your  last  shot  is  fired  give 
them  the  bayonet. 

"  On  a  portion  of  this  line  the  last  assault  was  repelled 
by  the  bayonet,  and  several  hundred  rebels  were  captured. 
When  night  had  closed  over  the  combatants,  the  last 
sound  of  battle  was  the  booming  of  Thomas's  shells 
bursting  among  his  baffled  and  retreating  assailants." 

Grant  telegraphed  to  Thomas  to  hold  Chattanooga  at 
all  hazards ;  and  Thomas,  Avith  his  troops  on  less  than 
half  rations  for  the  past  month,  replied,  "  AVe  will  hold 
the  town  till  we  starve."  He  urged  Sherman  to  come  at 
once.  Then  followed  those  memorable  battles  of  Look- 
out Mountain,  when  Hooker  fought  his  "  Battle  above 
the  clouds,"  and  Missionary  Ridge,  Avhen  Wood's  and 
Sheridan's  divisions  under  Thomas  lost  in  one  hour's 
storming  2,287  men. 

"  Sherman  was  fighting  the  heavy  colupin  of  the 
enemy  on  our  left,"  said  General  Henry  M.  Cist,  "and 
the  main  part  of  the  battle  had  been  his  share."  He 
lost  about  two  thousand  men. 

At  three  o'clock  the  first  rifle-pits  (m  the  ridge  were  to 
be  carried,  and  there  they  were  to  halt  to  await  orders. 
There  was  some  delay,  so  that  the  order  was  not  given 
till  half-past  three,  when  the  guns  sounded,  one,  two,  up 
to  six,  for  the  charge. 

The  enemy  had  four  lines  of  breastworks,  but  one  had 
been  captured  by  Thomas  the  day  before.  Three  rifle- 
pits  remained.  As  our  men  approached,  cheering,  and 
breaking  into  a  double-quick,  the  enemy  poured  upon 
them  shot  and  shell  frpm  their  batteries,  changing  it 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SIIEliMAN.     313 

soon  to  grajje  and  canister,  with  a  terrific  fire  of  mus- 
ketry. 

"  Dashing  through  this  over  the  open  plain,"  says 
General  Cist,  "  the  soldiers  of  the  army  of  the  Cumber- 
land swept  on,  driving  the  enemy's  skirmishers,  charging 
down  on  the  line  of  works  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge,  cap- 
turing it  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  and  routing  the 
rebels,  sending  them  at  full  speed  up  the  ridge,  killing 
and  capturing  them  in  large  numbers.  These  rifle-i)its 
were  reached  simultaneously  by  the  several  commands, 
when  the  troops,  in  compliance  with  their  instructions, 
lay  down  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge  awaiting  further 
orders." 

Here  they  waited  under  a  hot  fire.  The  orders  did 
not  come  ;  and  then  without  orders,  first  one  regiment  and 
then  another,  with  their  colors  raised,  pushed  up  the 
mountain  covered  with  rocks  and  fallen  timber. 

The  centre  of  Sheridan's  division  reached  the  crest 
first,  and  almost  at  the  same  time  the  ridge  was  carried 
in  six  places.  Almost  entire  regiments  were  taken  from 
the  enemy,  and  batteries,  the  Confederates  often  bay- 
oneted at  their  guns.  In  an  hour  the  work  had  been 
accomplished,  and  the  storming  of  Missionary  Ridge  had 
passed  into  history  as  a  memorable  instance  of  bravery. 
"After  it  was  over,"  says  General  FuUerton,  "some 
madly  shouted,  some  wept  from  very  excess  of  joy, 
some  grotesquely  danced  out  their  delight,  —  even  our 
wounded  forgot  their  pain  to  join  in  the  general  liur- 
rah." 

Grant  and  Tliomas  were  watching  tlie  battle  tlirough 
their  glasses.  Grant  asked,  "By  whose  orders  are  those 
troops  going  up  the  hill  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Thomas,  "I  did  not." 


314     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN. 

"I  didn't  order  them  up,"  said  Sheridan,  "but  we  are 
going  to  take  the  ridge." 

Grant  remarked  tliat  "it  was  all  right  if  it  turned  out 
all  right,  but,  if  not,  some  one  would  suffer." 

By  the  cajjture  of  the  ridge,  Sherman  was  enabled  to 
take  the  tunnt-l  as  he  had  been  ordered.  Captain  S.  H. 
M.  l>yers,  who  was  captured  at  the  tunnel  with  sixty  of 
his  regiment  and  put  in  Libby  prison  for  seven  months 
—  the  sixty  were  soon  reduced  to  sixteen  by  death  — 
thus  describes  the  scene.  "As  the  column  came  out 
upon  the  ground,  and  in  sight  of  the  rebel  batteries,  their 
renewed  and  concentrated  fire  knocked  the  limbs  from 
the  trees  above  our  heads.  ...  In  front  of  us  was  a 
rail-fence.  'Jump  the  fence,  boys,'  was  the  order,  and 
never  was  a  fence  scaled  more  quickly.  It  was  nearly 
half  a  mile  to  tlie  rebel  position,  and  we  started  on  the 
charge,  running  across  tlie  open  fields.  I  had  heard 
the  roaring  of  heavy  battle  before,  but  never  such  shriek- 
ing of  cannon  balls  and  bursting  of  shells  as  met  us  on 
that  run." 

Sherman,  in  his  official  report,  gave  his  officers  and 
men  due  credit  for  their  "  patience,  cheerfulness,  and 
courage."  "  For  long  periods,"  lie  said,  "  without  regular 
rations  or  supplies  of  any  kind,  they  have  marched 
through  mud  and  over  rocks,  sometimes  barefooted,  with- 
out a  murmur.  Without  a  moment's  rest  after  a  marcli 
of  over  four  hundred  miles,  without  sleep  for  three  suc- 
cessive nights,  we  crossed  the  Tennessee,  fought  our  part 
of  the  battle  of  Chattanooga,  pursued  the  enemy  out  of 
Tennessee,  and  then  turned  more  than  a  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  north,  and  compelled  Longstreet  to  raise 
the  siege  of  Knoxville." 

Congress  soon  passed  a  resolution  of  thanks  to  Sher- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEU  SHERMAN.     315 

man  aud  liis  army  for  their  "gallant  and  arduous  ser- 
vices in  marching  to  the  relief  of  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland,  and  for  their  gallantry  and  heroism  in  the 
battle  of  Chattanooga,  which  contributed  in  a  great  degree 
to  the  success  of  our  arms  in  that  glorious  victory." 

The  grade  of  lieutenant-general  Avas  now  revived  in 
the  army,  and  bestowed  upon  Grant.  He  wrote  Sherman 
at  once  to  "  express  my  thanks  to  you  and  McPherson, 
as  the  men  to  whom,  above  all  others,  I  feel  indebted  for 
whatever  I  have  had  of  success.  How  far  your  advice 
and  suggestions  have  been  of  assistance,  you  kuow. 
How  far  your  execution  of  w]iatever  has  been  given  you 
to  do  entitles  you  to  the  reward  I  am  receiving,  you  can- 
not know  as  well  as  I  do." 

And  Sherman  wrote  back :  "  I  believe  you  as  brave, 
patriotic,  and  just  as  the  great  prototype  ^Vashillgton ; 
as  unselfish,  kind-hearted,  and  honest  as  a  man  shoidd 
be ;  but  the  chief  characteristic  in  your  nature  is  tlio 
simple  faith  in  success  you  have  always  manifested, 
which  I  can  liken  to  notliing  else  than  tlie  faith  a 
Christian  has  in  his  Saviour. 

"  This  faith  gave  you  victory  at  Shiloh  and  Vieksburg. 
Also,  when  you  have  completed  your  best  preparations, 
you  go  into  battle  without  hesitation,  as  at  Chattanooga 
—  no  doubts,  no  reserve;  and  I  tell  you  that  it  was  tliis 
that  made  us  act  with  ccmfidence.  I  knew,  wlu'rever  1 
was,  tliat  you  thought  of  me,  and  if  F  got  in  a  tiglit 
place  you  would  comt;  —  if  alive.'' 

Sherman  at  tliis  time  was  i)ut  in  command  of  the  mil- 
itary division  of  tlic  Mississii)pi,  witli  Sclioiicld.  Tliomas, 
McPherson,  and  Steele  under  liim.  Grant  was  to  con- 
quer Robert  E.  Lee  and  his  large  army  at  tlie  East ;  and 
Sherman,  Joseph  E.  Johnston's  army  at  the  West  aud 
South. 


316     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

Supplies  were  at  once  gatliered  by  Sherman  at  Chatta- 
nooga for  one  liundred  thousand  men,  which  wouhl  neces- 
sitate one  hundred  and  thirty  cars,  of  ten  tons  each,  to 
reach  that  city  daily.  Confederate  raids  under  Forrest 
and  others  Avere  frequent;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  Grant, 
nothing  could  deter  Sherman. 

On  May  5,  1SC4,  the  great  army  started  for  Atlanta, 
Ga.,  prepared  to  fight  its  way.  The  men  fought  bravely 
at  llesaca,  at  Allatoona  Pass,  and  elsewliere. 

During  the  month  of  May,  Sherman  had  advanced  his 
army,  as  he  says,  "  nearly  a  hundred  miles  of  as  difficult 
a  country  as  was  ever  fought  over  by  civilized  armies. 
The  fighting  was  continuous,  almost  daily,  among  trees 
and  bushes,  on  ground  where  we  could  lurely  see  a  hun- 
dred yards  ahead."  Sherman  had  lost  9,299  men  ;  nearly 
two  thousand  in  killed  and  missing,  and  over  seven  thou- 
sand wounded.  The  enemy's  loss  was  a  little  over  half 
that  number. 

From  June  10  to  July  3  an  almost  constant  battle  was 
waged  about  Kenesaw  Mountain,  with  a  loss  on  our  side 
of  nearly  eight  tliousand,  and  the  Confederate  loss  con- 
siderably less. 

An  amusing  remark  came  to  Sherman's  ear  at  Kene- 
saw. One  of  the  Confederate  soldiers  said  to  another, 
"  Well,  the  Yanks  will  have  to  git  up  and  git  now,  for 
I  heard  General  Jolmston  himself  say  that  General 
AVheeler  had  blown  up  tlie  tunnel  near  Dalton,  and  that 
the  Yanks  would  have  to  retreat,  because  they  could  get 
no  more  rations." 

''  Oh,"  said  tlu;  listener,  *'  don't  you  know  that  old 
Sherman  carries  a  dupUcate  tunnel  along  ?  " 

The  enemy  were  constantly  driven  back  towards  At- 
lanta.     On  July  22  a  bloody  battle  was   fought   near 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TEC U MS E II  SHERMAN.     317 

Atlanta,  usually  called  the  Battle  of  Atlanta,  in  which 
tlu^  brave  General  McPherson  was  killed  in  the  hottest 
of  the  tight  wlien  passing  from  one  column  to  another. 
He  rode  into  a  wood,  and  soon  his  horse  returned, 
wounded,  bleeding,  and  riderless.  His  body  was  recov- 
ered, with  his  gauntlets  on  and  boots  outside  his  panta- 
loons, but  his  i)()cket-book  with  his  papers  was  gone.  Tlie 
spot  where  he  fell  was  soon  retaken  by  our  men,  and  the 
pocket-book  and  its  contents  were  found  in  the  haversack 
of  a  prisoner  of  war,  captured  at  the  time. 

McFlierson  was  only  thirty-f(mr  years  old,  over  six 
feet  high,  luiiversally  beloved,  and  apparently  destined 
for  a  great  future,  Sherman  coidd  not  look  long  upon 
tlie  body.  "  lietter  start  at  once,  and  drive  carefully,'' 
said  the  blufP  but  tender-hearted  general  to  McPherson 's 
staff,  as  he  covered  the  body  with  the  flag.  It  was  taken 
home  to  Clyde,  Ohio,  where  it  was  received  with  great 
honor,  and  buried  near  his  mother's  house  in  a  small 
cemetery,  ])art  of  which  is  the  family  orchard  where  he 
played  when  a  boy. 

General  John  A.  Logan  took  the  command  after  the 
death  of  IMcrherson,  and  foiiglit  bravely.  The  attack 
was  made  upon  ]iis  line  seven  times,  and  seven  times 
repulsed. 

Sherman  was  often  in  extreme  danger.  ()nc(>,  when 
he,  Logan,  and  a  few  others  were  talking  togetlier.  a 
minie-ball  passed  through  Logan's  coat-sleeve,  scratching 
the  skin,  and  struck  Colonel  Taylor  in  tlie  breast.  A 
memorandum-book  saved  his  life.  At  anotlier  tinte  a 
cannon-ball  passed  over  Slierinan's  shoulder  and  killeil 
the  horse  of  an  orderly  behind.  Another  ball  took  off 
the  head  of  a  negi-o  close  by  Slu>rman. 

The  month  of  July  was  an  extremely  hot  one,  but  the 


318     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

soldiers  had  been  in  almost  constant  conflict.  Our  loss 
in  tliat  month  v/as  about  ten  thousand  men,  and  that  of 
the  enemy  perhaps  greater  by  a  few  hundreds. 

Sherman's  men  tore  up  railroad-tracks,  made  bonfires 
of  the  ties,  wrapped  tlie  heated  rails  round  trees  and 
telegraph  poles,  and  left  them  to  cool,  —  such  rails  could 
not  be  used  again,  —  and  filled  up  deep  cuts  with  trees, 
brush,  and  earth,  commingled  witli  loaded  shells,  so 
arranged  that  they  would  explode  if  disturbed.  Thus 
the  devastation  of  war  went  on. 

Atlanta  was  full  of  foundries,  arsenals,  and  machine- 
shops,  and  was  called  the  "  Gate  City  of  the  South." 
"  I  knew  tliat  its  cai)ture,"  says  Sherman,  "  would  be  the 
death-knell  of  the  Southern  Confederacy." 

Sept.  2  Atlanta  could  bear  the  Federal  guns  no  longer, 
was  evacuated  by  the  enemy,  and  oixr  troops  marclu'd 
into  the  city  with  great  rejoicing.  The  losses  during 
these  four  months  had  been  over  thirty  thousand  on  each 
side. 

President  Lincoln  wrote  to  Sherman  :  "  The  marches, 
battles,  sieges,  and  other  military  operations,  that  have 
signalized  tlie  campaign,  must  render  it  famous  in  the 
annals  of  the  war,  and  have  entitled  those  who  have 
participated  therein  to  the  applause  and  thanks  of  the 
nation." 

GraTit  wrote  from  City  Point,  Va.,  "In  honor  of  your 
great  victory,  I  have  ordered  a  salute  to  be  fired  with 
shotted  guns  from  every  battery  bearing  on  the  enemy. 
...  I  feel  that  you  liave  accomplished  the  most  gigan- 
tic undertaking  given  to  any  general  in  this  war," 

Sherman  at  once  required  all  the  citizens  and  families 
resident  in  Atlanta  to  leave  the  city  and  go  North  or 
South  as  they  chose,  with  a  reasonable  amount  of  furni- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     319 

ture  and  bedding.  This  order  was  denounced  by  Hood, 
who  had  relieved  Johnston,  as  unprecedented  and  cruel. 
A  bitter  correspondence  took  place,  in  which  Sliernian 
said,  "  War  is  cruelty,  and  you  cannot  refine  it.  .  .  .  You 
might  as  well  appeal  against  the  thunder-storms  as 
against  these  terrible  hardships  of  war.  They  are  inevi- 
table ;  and  the  only  way  the  peo[)le  of  Atlanta  can  hope 
once  more  to  live  in  peace  and  quiet  at  home,  is  to  stop 
the  war,  which  can  only  be  done  by  admitting  that  it  be- 
gan in  error  and  is  perpetuated  in  pride.  .  .  . 

"  I  want  i)eace,  and  believe  it  can  only  be  reached 
through  union  and  war,  and  I  will  ever  conduct  war  with 
a  view  to  perfect  and  early  success.  When  peace  does 
come,  you  may  call  on  me  for  anything.  Then  will  I 
share  with  ycm  the  last  cracker,  and  watcli  witli  you  to 
shield  your  homes  and  families  against  danger  from 
every  quarter." 

Hood  then  took  his  army  into  Tennessee,  and  much  of 
the  old  battle  ground  was  fought  over.  Allatoona  l*ass 
was  wonderfully  defended  by  General  John  M.  Corse, 
who  lost  a  cheek-bone  and  an  ear  by  a  ball  cutting  across 
his  fac(^,  but  still  led  his  men,  holding  tlie  pass  and  kill- 
ing the  enemy  three  to  one.  Mr.  John  C.  Ro])es  regards 
this  fight  "as  one  of  the  most  memorable  occurrences  of 
the  war." 

At  Kesaca,  when  General  Hood  demanded  its  surrender, 
Colonel  Clark  R.  Weaver  said,  "  In  my  o])inion,  T  can 
hold  this  post.  Tf  you  want  it,  come  and  take  it."  lUit 
Hood  did  not  attempt  it  after  his  losses  at  .\llatoona. 

Sherman  saw  the  impossibility  of  holding  tlic  country 
and  defending  the  railroads  without  constant  losses.  He 
telegra]>hed  (Jiant,  ''  With  twenty-five  thousand  infantry 
and  the  bold  cavalry  he  has.  Hood  can  constantly  break 


320     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SIIEIIMAN. 

my  road.  I  would  infinitely  prefer  to  make  a  wreck  of 
the  road  and  of  the  country  from  Chattanooga  to  Atlanta 
.  .  .  and  with  my  effective  army  move  through  Georgia, 
smashing  things  to  the  sea." 

On  the  morning  of  Nov,  15,  18G4,  this  great  army 
of  about  (}5,000  men  began  its  march  from  Atlanta  to  the 
sea.  The  depot,  round-house,  and  machine-shops  of  the 
Georgia  railroad  had  been  burned.  The  fire  destroyed 
the  heart  of  the  city,  but  did  not  reach  the  mass  of  the 
dwelling-houses.  The  army  carried  sixty-five  guns,  or 
one  to  each  thousand  men.  Each  gun,  caisson,  and  forge 
was  drawn  by  four  teams  of  horses.  There  were  twenty- 
five  hundred  wagons,  Avith  six  mules  each,  and  six  hun- 
dred ambulances  with  two  horses  each.  P^very  soldier 
carried  on  his  person  forty  rounds  of  ammunition,  and 
in  the  wagons  were  enough  cartridges  to  make  up  two 
hundred  rounds  to  a  man.  The  procession  occupied  five 
miles  or  more  of  road. 

Corps  commanders  alone  were  intrusted  with  the  power 
of  destroying  mills,  cotton-gins,  etc.  "  Where  the  army 
is  unmolested,"  said  Sherman,  "no  destruction  of  such 
property  should  be  permitted." 

The  cavalry  and  artillery  were  allowed  to  take  horses, 
mules,  and  wagons,  especially  from  the  rich,  who  were 
not  \isually  as  friendly  as  the  poor.  Soldiers  were  not  to 
enter  the  dwellings  of  the  inhabitants,  but  might  gather 
vegetables  and  stock.  Kegular  foraging  parties  might 
gather  provisions  at  any  distance  from  the  road  trav- 
elled. 

As  the  great  company  moved  out  of  Atlanta,  the  black 
smoke  of  her  buildings  rising  high  in  air,  the  men  sang 
"John  Brown's  body  lies  a-mouldering  in  his  grave." 
"Never  before  or  since,"  says  Sherman,  "have  I  heard 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SHERMAN.     321 

the  chonis  of  *  Gloiy,  glory,  hallelujah!'  done  with  more 
spirit,  or  in  better  harmony  of  time  and  place." 

As  Sherman  moved  past  his  men,  some  of  them  called 
out,  "  Uncle  Billy,"  —  they  usually  called  him  tliis,  —  "I 
guess  Grant  is  waiting  for  us  at  Kichmond  !  " 

The  first  night  they  camped  by  the  roadside  near 
Lithonia.  All  night  long  groups  of  men  were  tearing  up 
railroads  and  bending  the  heated  rails  around  trees  or 
telegraph  poles. 

At  the  towns  the  white  people  came  out  to  look  upon 
the  hated  intruders,  and  the  colored  people  were  frantic 
with  joy.  Each  day  foraging  parties,  "  Slierman's  bum- 
mers" as  they  were  called,  usually  about  fifty  men  from 
a  brigade,  would  go  out  to  the  i)lantations  for  food. 

"■  The  foragers,"  says  Major-General  Jacob  I).  Cox  in  his 
"March  to  the  Sea,"  "turned  into  beasts  of  burden  oxen 
and  cows,  as  well  as  horses  and  mules.  Here  would  be  a 
silver-mounted  family  carriage  drawn  by  a  jackass  and 
a  cow,  loaded  inside  and  out  with  everything  the  country 
l)roduced,  vegetable  and  animal,  dead  and  alive.  There 
Avould  be  an  ox-cart,  similarly  loaded,  and  drawn  by  a 
nondescri})t  tand(Mn  team,  equally  incongruous.  Perched 
upon  the  top  would  be  a  ragged  forager,  rigged  out  in  a 
fur  hat  of  a  fasliion  worn  by  darkies  of  a  century  ago,  or 
a  dress-coat  which  had  done  service  at  stylisli  balls  of 
a  former  generation."  Many  of  the  horses  and  mules 
collected  were  shot,  as  it  ])roduced  a  bad  effect  on  the 
infantry  when  too  many  idlers  were  mounted. 

The  usual  march  for  the  army  was  about  fifteen  miles 
per  day.  The  Southern  press  urged  that  the  invading 
army  be  destroyed,  starved,  obstructed  by  gun.  spade,  and 
axe.     But  the  great  host  swept  on. 

At  Milledgeville  tlie  arsenal  and  such  public  buildings 


322     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEU  SHERMAN. 

as  could  be  used  easily  for  hostile  purposes  were  burned, 
while  several  mills  and  thousands  of  bales  of  cotton  were 
spared.     Other  places  shared  the  same  fate. 

As  the  army  neared  Savannah,  they  were  assiired  by 
some  i)risoners  whom  thoy  took,  tliat  it  would  be  found 
strons^ly  fortified.  On  one  of  the  roads  torpedoes  had 
been  planted^  one  of  which  exploded  wlien  toucliod  by  a 
horse's  lioof,  killing  tlie  animal  and  literally  blowing  off 
the  flesh  from  the  legs  of  the  rider.  This  so  angered 
General  Sherman,  that  he  made  some  rebel  prisoners, 
much  against  their  will,  pass  over  the  road  to  explode 
their  own  torpedoes,  or  to  discover  and  dig  them  up. 

Sherman  demanded  of  General  Hardee  the  surrender 
of  Savannah.  Tliis  Hardee  declined  to  do ;  but  lie  evacu- 
nated  the  city  about  the  time  the  assault  was  to  have 
been  made,  leaving  behind  his  heavy  guns,  cotton,  rail- 
way-cars, steamboats,  and  other  property,  but  dt'stroying 
his  iron  clads  and  navy-yards.  The  ground  outside  the 
forts  was  filled  with  torpedoes,  as  was  also  the  Savannah 
lliver.  Log  piers  were  stretched  across  the  cliannel  be- 
low the  city,  and  filled  with  the  cobble-stones  that  for- 
merly paved  the  streets.  A  heavy  force  at  once  set  to 
work  to  remove  tlie  torpedoes  and  other  obstructions 
from  the  laver,  and  Savannah  became  the  great  d('i)ot  of 
supply  for  the  troops.  Very  many  destitute  Southern 
families  were  fed  by  Sherman. 

Sherman  tel('grai)hed  the  President,  Dec.  22,  18G4 : 
"  I  beg  to  present  you,  as  a  Christmas  gift,  tlie  city  of 
Savannah,  witli  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  heavy  guns 
and  ]»lenty  of  ammunition,  also  about  t\venty-iiv(^  thousand 
bales  of  cotton." 

There  was  great  rejoicing  at  the  capture  of  the  city,  as 
now  Sherman  could  march  into  the  Carolinas  and  lay 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     B23 

them  waste,  and  then  join  his  army  to  that  of  Giant,  who 
was  besieging  Lee  in  Eichmoncl.  Thomas  had  conquered 
Hood  at  Nashville.  The  end  of  the  war  could  be  i)lainly 
seen. 

Grant  congratulated  Sherman  on  liis  brilliant  cam- 
paign. "  I  never  had  a  doubt,"  he  said,  "of  the  residt. 
When  apprehensions  for  your  safety  were  expressed  by 
the  l*resident,  I  assured  him,  with  the  army  you  liad,  and 
you  in  command  of  it,  there  was  no  danger  but  you 
would  strike  bottom  on  salt  water  some  place ;  that  I 
would  not  feel  the  same  security,  in  fact,  would  not  have 
intrusted  the  expedition  to  any  otlier  living  commander." 

Lincoln  Avrote,  "■  The  undertaking  being  a  success,  the 
lionor  is  all  yours ;  for  I  believe  none  of  ns  went  further 
than  to  acqiuesce.  .  .  .  But  wliat  next  ?  I  suppose  it 
will  be  safer  if  I  leave  General  Grant  and  yourself  to 
decide." 

Congress  passed  a  vote  of  thanks  to  Sherman  and  his 
men  for  the  great  March  to  the  Sea,  of  three  hundred 
miles  in  twenty-four  days.  This  march  greatly  inter- 
ested Europe,  though  Sherman  never  considered  it  so 
important  as  the  passage  of  the  army  afterwards  tlirough 
tlie  Carolinas. 

The  London  Times  said  :  "  Since  tlie  great  Duke  of 
Marlborough  turned  his  back  u})on  the  Dutch,  and 
])lunged  Imrriedly  into  Germany  to  fight  the  famous 
battle  of  Blenheim,  military  history  has  recorded  no 
stranger  marvel  than  this  mysterious  expedition  of  (Jen- 
eral  Sliernian,  on  an  unknown  route,  against  an  undis- 
covered enemy."'  Xoted  army  men  regard  it  as  liaving 
"  scarcely  a  ])arallel  in  the  history  of  war." 

In  January  the  wliole  army  left  Savannali,  Ga.,  for 
Columbia,  S.C.     Sometimes,  in  jwuring  rains,  they  waded 


324     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

up  to  their  shoulders  through  swamps  previously  con- 
sidered impassable,  or  made  roads  for  miles  through  the 
mud  by  corduroying  them  with  rails  and  split  trees. 

The  Confederate  General  Johnston  said  later,  in  the 
hearing  of  General  Cox,  concerning  this  part  of  the 
march,  "  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  thei-e  had  been 
no  such  army  since  the  days  of  Jidius  Caesar." 

"Whoever  will  consider,"  says  General  Cox,  "the 
effect  of  dragging  the  artillery  and  liundreds  of  loaded 
army  wagons  over  mud  roads,  in  such  a  country,  and  of 
the  infinite  labor  required  to  pave  these  roads  with  logs, 
levelling  the  surface  with  smaller  poles  in  the  holloAvs 
between,  adding  to  the  structure  as  the  mass  sinks  in  the 
ooze,  and  contimiing  this  till  the  miles  of  train  have 
pulled  through,  will  get  a  constantly  increasing  idea  of 
the  work,  aiul  a  steadily  increasing  wonder  that  it  was 
done  at  all." 

On  Feb.  16  Sherman  cami)ed  near  an  old  prison  biv- 
ouac opposite  Columbia,  called  Camp  Sorghum,  "where 
remained,"  he  says,  "  the  mud-hovels  and  holes  in  the 
ground  which  our  prisoners  had  made  to  shelter  them- 
selves from  the  winter's  cold  and  the  summer's  heat." 

When  the  army  entered  Columbia,  they  found  a  long 
pile  of  burning  cotton-bales,  which  Sherman  was  told 
had  been  fired  by  General  Wade  Hampton's  men  before 
their  departure.  At  night  a  high  wind  fanned  these 
flames  ;  and  though  Sherman's  men  assisted  in  trying  to 
put  out  the  fire,  the  heart  of  the  city  was  burned  —  sev- 
eral churches,  the  old  State  House,  hotels,  and  dwellings. 
About  half  the  city  was  in  ashes.  Sherman  gave  the 
mayor  five  hundred  cattle  to  feed  the  j)eople,  and  one 
hundred  muskets  to  preserve  order  after  the  departure 
of  his  army. 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     325 

One  lady  saved  her  home  from  i»illage  by  showing  to 
the  troops  a  book  which  Sherman  liad  given  her  years 
before.  The  boys  knew  Uncle  Billy's  writing.  Tliey 
guarded  her  house,  and  a  young  man  from  Towa  tended 
lier  baby  while  she  was  receiving  a  social  call  from 
Sherman. 

While  in  CU)lund)ia,  a  poem  was  presented  to  Sherman 
by  Adjutant  S.  11.  jVI.  l>yers  of  the  Fifth  Iowa  Infantry, 
wa'itten  wliile  a  prisoner  in  that  city,  Avhere  it  was  ar- 
ranged and  sung  by  the  prisoners.  It  was  entitled 
"Sherman's  March  to  tlie  Sea,"  beginning, — 

"  Our  camp-fires  sIioik;  liriglit  on  the  nioniitains 

That  frowned  on  the  river  below, 
As  we  stood  by  our  guns  in  the  morning, 

And  eagerly  watched  for  tlie  foe; 
When  a  rider  came  out  of  the  darkness 

That  hung  over  mountain  and  tree, 
And  shouted,  '13oys,  up  and  be  ready! 

For  Sherman  will  march  to  the  sea! '  " 

Sherman  at  once  attached  Byers  to  his  staff. 

Several  founderics,  the  factory  of  Confederate  money, 
and  the  state  arsenal  at  Columbia,  were  destroyed  by 
Sherman  before  leaving.  Charleston  was  evacuated  Feb. 
18,  for  fear  of  its  falling  into  Federal  hands ;  and 
Wilmington  was  captured  by  General  Terry  Feb.  22. 
At  Cheraw  a  large  nund)er  of  guns  and  thirty-six  Iniu- 
dred  barrels  of  powder  were  taken ;  at  Fayetteville  a 
magnificent  United  States  arsenal  was  destroyed  l)v  our 
men. 

Two  battles  were  fouglit  at  .Vverysboro  and  at  Bcn- 
tonville,  Johnston  now  commanding  tlie  Confederates, 
our  loss  being  over  two  thousand  men  in  both  batth's. 
March  23  Sherman's  army  entered  Goldsborougli,  X.C., 


326     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEH  SUERMAN. 

after  a  march  from  Savannah  of  four  hun{lre<^  and 
twenty-five  miles,  across  five  large  rivers,  and  innumer- 
able swamps,  in  lifty  days,  the  army  being  almost  as 
fresh  as  Avhen  they  started  from  Atlanta. 

General  Sherman  then  left  his  army  under  Schofield, 
and  started  for  City  l*oint,  Ya.,  to  meet  Lincoln  and 
Grant  on  March  28.  "  When  I  left  Lincoln,"  says  Sher- 
man,—  this  proved  to  be  their  last  meeting,  —  "I  was 
more  than  ever  impressed  with  his  kindly  nature,  his 
deep  and  earnest  sympathy  with  the  afflictions  of  the 
Avhole  people,  resulting  from  the  war,  and  by  the  march 
of  hostile  armies  through  the  South."  He  wanted  no 
more  blood  shed,  and  was  anxious  for  the  men  on  both 
sides  to  return  to  their  homes. 

"  Of  all  the  men  I  ever  met,"  said  Sherman,  "  he 
seemed  to  possess  more  of  the  elements  of  greatness, 
combined  with  goodness,  than  any  other." 

Sherman  returned  to  liis  army,  and  made  ready  for  one 
more  march,  to  meet  Grant.  He  was  to  start  April  10. 
However,  April  6  Richmond  fell,  and  Lee  and  his  whole 
army  surrendered  to  Grant  at  Appomattox  Court  House, 
Va.,  April  9,  18G5. 

Sherman's  army  were  resting,  April  11,  at  the  end  of 
the  hour's  march,  when  a  staif-officer  galloped  along  tlie 
lines,  shouting,  *'  Lee  has  surrendered  !  "  The  soldiers 
were  Avild  with  delight,  and  flung  their  caps  at  liim,  as 
they  sliouted,  "You're  the  man  we've  been  looking  for 
these  three  years  !  " 

A  Southern  woman  came  to  the  gate  with  her  cliildren 
as  the  columns  passed,  and,  learning  the  reason  of  tlie 
commotion,  looked  at  her  little  ones,  Avhile  the  tears  fell 
down  her  cheeks,  and  said  tenderly,  *'  Now  father  will 
come  home." 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     327 

April  13  Johnston  asked  for  a  suspension  of  hostili- 
ties ;  on  the  evening  of  April  14  Lincoln  was  assassi- 
nated, to  the  great  grief  of  the  nation ;  April  18  a  basis  of 
agreement  was  effected  between  Sherman  and  Johnston, 
which  was  modified  at  Washington,  so  as  to  correspond 
with  the  terms  made  between  Grant  and  Lee.  On 
April  20  Johnston  surrendered  to  Sherman  his  whole 
force,  36,817  men,  and  the  troops  in  Georgia  and  Florida, 
52,453,  making  89,270  men.  The  march  to  the  sea  and 
throngh  the  Carolinas  had  helped,  as  Sherman  believed 
it  would,  to  end  the  Civil  War. 

There  remained  oidy  for  the  closing  scene  the  grand 
review  of  the  Army  of  the  West  for  six  hours  and  a  half 
along  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  Wasliington,  May  24,  the 
day  following  the  review  of  the  Army  of  the  I'otomae. 
Some  of  the  division  commanders,  by  way  of  variety, 
had  added  goats,  cows,  and  mules,  loaded  with  poultry, 
hams,  etc.  There  were  also  families  of  freed  slaves  in 
the  procession,  the  women  leading  the  children.  Each 
division  was  preceded  by  its  corps  of  black  helpers,  with 
picks  and  spades. 

In  Sherman's  farewell  to  his  army  he  ui-ged  those  who 
remained  in  the  service  to  continue  the  same  hard  work 
and  discipline  which  they  had  had  in  the  i)ast,  and  those 
who  went  to  their  homes  "not  to  yield  to  the  natural 
impatience  sure  to  result  from  our  past  life  of  excite- 
ment and  adventure,"  but  to  make  a  home  and  occnipa- 
tion  in  our  grand,  extensive,  diversified  country. 

"Your  general,"  he  said,  "now  bids  you  fartnvcdl,  witli 
the  full  belief  tliat,  as  in  war  you  have  been  good  soldiers. 
so  in  peace  you  will  make  good  citizens;  and  if,  unfortu- 
nately, new  war  should  arise  in  our  country,  '  Sherman's ' 
Army '  will  be  the  first  to  buckle  on  its  old  armor,  and 


328     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

come  forth  to  defend  and  luaiutaiu  the  Government  of 
our  inheritance." 

After  the  war  Sherman  was  in  command  of  tlie  mili- 
tary division  of  the  Mississippi,  with  headquarters  at 
St.  Louis.  He  took  especial  interest  in  the  development 
of  the  Northern  and  Southern  ]'aeiHc  railroads.  When 
Grant  was  made  General,  July  25,  1806,  Sherman  was 
made  Lieutenant-General.  In  18G9  when  Grant  became 
President,  Sherman  was  made  General,  with  the  i)r(i- 
vision  that  the  office  should  go  to  no  other  person. 
Sheridan  was  made  Lieutenant-General  with  the  same 
provision. 

From  Nov.  10,  1871,  to  Sept.  17,  1872,  General  Sher- 
man travelled  abroad  in  Turkey,  Russia,  Austria,  and 
"Western  Europe,  and  received  distinguished  honors.  He 
kept  full  notes.  After  his  return  he  published  his 
memoirs  in  two  volumes,  Avhich  the  Nation  charac- 
terises as  "one  of  the  most  noteworthy  exanii)les  of 
self-revealing  in  the  whole  range  of  autobiograph}'."' 

He  received  degrees  from  Harvard,  Yale,  Dartmouth, 
and  Princeton  colleges.  To  Harvard  college  he  sent  a 
large  picture  of  himself,  which  now  hangs  in  the  library. 
He  was  much  sought  after  in  social  circles,  and  was  an 
interesting  speaker  and  writer.  Once  when  speaking  on 
the  American  flag  to  the  pupils  of  the  Packer  and  Poly- 
technic Institutes  in  Brooklyn,  he  said  of  the  "  Stars  and 
Bars,"  the  Confederate  flag,  "They  cut  out  the  blue. 
They  left  heaven  out  of  their  flag,  and  so  were  destined 
to  defeat." 

To  the  cadets  at  West  Point  he  said  :  "  When  war 
comes  you  can  have  but  one  purpose  —  your  country  — 
and  by  your  country  T  mean  the  Avhole  country,  not  part 
of  it."     Everywhere  he  was  outspoken,  of  simple  man- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN.     329 

ners,  humorous,  brave,  unseltisli,  and  comprehensive  in 
mind  and  actions. 

"The  two  or  three  great  captains  in  any  age,"  says 
the  Nation,  "are  alike  in  the  supreme  qualities  which 
make  a  general.  They  have  the  unruffled  presence  of 
mind  which  makes  their  intellectual  operations  most 
sure  and  true  in  the  greatest  and  most  sudden  peril,  and 
the  true  greatness  which  makes  the  most  momentous 
decision  and  unhesitating  action  under  vast  responsibil- 
ity, as  if  these  were  the  every  day  work  of  their  lives. 
The  present  generation  has  in  our  army  seen  two  such, 
Grant  and  Sherman.  It  is  doubtful  if  it  has  seen  a 
third." 

General  Oliver  0.  Howard,  who  lost  an  arm  under 
Sherman,  Avrites,  "  Take  him  all  in  all.  General  Sherman 
was  not  only  one  of  the  greatest  military  geniuses  in 
history,  but  a  model  of  a  kindly,  generous,  and  faithful 
man  in  every  position  in  life." 

Sherman's  soldiers  idolized  him.  To  them  he  was 
always  "  Old  Tecums  "  or  "  Uncle  15illy."  He  believed 
in  fighting  at  the  front.  He  said  in  his  j\Iemoirs  :  "No 
man  can  ])r()perly  command  an  army  from  the  rear.  He 
must  be  at  its  front.  .  .  .  Some  men  think  that  modern 
armies  may  be  so  regulated  that  a  general  can  sit  in  an 
office  and  i)lay  on  his  several  columns  as  on  the  ke^-s  of  a 
])iano.  This  is  a  fearful  mistake.  The  directing  mind 
must  be  at  the  very  head  of  tht^  army  —  must  be  seen 
there,  and  tlie  eifect  of  liis  mind  and  personal  energy 
must  be  felt  by  every  officer  and  man  present  with  it,  to 
secure  the  b{>st  results." 

General  Sherman  was  strongly  urg<'d  to  become  a  can- 
didate for  the  l*residency.  He  declined  absolutely,  as 
he  did  not  wish  its  cares  and  duties ;  knowing  also  that 


330     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

the  religion  of  his  wife  and  children,  Konian  Catholi- 
cism, though  he  was  not  a  liomanist,  would  cause  opiX)si- 
tiou.  His  son,  Thomas  Ewing  Sherman,  though  educated 
for  the  law,  became  a  Catholic  priest. 

After  retiring  from  the  army,  as  the  law  requires  at 
sixty-four  years  of  age,  though  allowed  full  pay,  thirteen 
thousand  live  hundred  dollars  yearly  to  the  end  of  his 
life,  Sherman  removed  to  New  York,  living  at  75  West 
Seventy-first  Street.  Here,  in  the  midst  of  his  children 
and  grandchildren,  he  passed  his  last  days  happily.  Of 
his  four  sons,  Willie,  Charles,  Thomas,  and  Philemon 
Tecuraseh,  the  first  two  died.  Of  his  four  daughters, 
Minnie,  Lizzie,  Ella,  and  Eachel,  Minnie  was  married 
to  Lieutenant  Fitch,  Ella  to  Lieutenant  Thackara,  and 
Rachel  to  Dr.  Thorndike. 

General  Sherman  was  always  partial  to  the  West,  and 
believed  in  its  great  future. 

Mrs.  Sherman  died  Nov.  27,  1888,  and  was  buried 
in  Calvary  Cemetery,  St.  Louis,  in  a  plot  selected  by 
herself  and  husband  over  twenty  years  before.  Here 
their  two  sons  and  three  grandchildren  were  also  buried. 

Early  in  February,  1891,  General  Sherman  took  cold, 
which  resulted  in  his  death  from  broncliial  trouble  and 
asthma,  Saturday  afternoon  at  1.50,  Feb.  14.  He  died 
without  apparent  pain,  all  his  family  about  him,  excejjt 
the  Kev.  Thomas  E.  Sherman,  his  son,  who  was  on  his 
way  home  from  Europe. 

Though  requesting  that  his  body  should  not  lie  in 
state,  the  family  were  finally  persuaded  to  allow  the 
thousands  of  the  General's  friends  to  pass  by  the  coffin 
in  his  own  parlors  from  ten  to  four  o'clock.  There  was 
deep  and  unfeigned  sorroAv.  Tlie  funeral  Avas  one  never 
to  be  forgotten.     New  York  City  was  draped  with  mourn- 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  TEC UMSEH  SHERMAN.     331 

ing.  All  the  shipping  bore  the  emblems  of  gi'ief,  with 
liags  at  half-mast.  IJusiuess  was  practically  suspended 
and  the  streets  crowded. 

For  two  hours  and  a  half,  while  bells  were  tolling,  the 
great  procession  mov^ed  past,  with  inverted  muskets, 
muffled  drums,  torn  battle-Hags,  cavalry  and  artillery,  all 
following  the  caisson  with  its  heroic  dead  wrapi)ed  in  the 
flag.  The  caisson  in  its  funereal  trappings  was  drawn 
by  five  black  horses,  three  of  these  abreast.  Two  of  the 
horses  were  ridden  by  artillerymen  in  blue  uniforms, 
with  black  helmets  and  red  plumes.  Behind  the  caisson 
was  a  soldier  leading  a  handsome  black  riderless  horse, 
covered  with  black  velvet,  on  whose  back  were  Sherman's 
saddle  and  his  riding  boots  reversed. 

The  great  of  the  nation  were  prest'ut  to  do  Sherman 
honor.  Among  the  distinguished  generals  was  Joseph 
E.  Johnston  from  the  South,  who  was  also  at  the  funeral 
of  Grant,  and  for  whom  both  the  Xorthern  geni'rals  had 
great  respect  and  admiration. 

As  the  funeral  corthje  passed  along,  appro])riate  selec- 
tions were  played  by  the  bands.  Gilmore's  band  electri- 
fied all  hearts  by  the  song  turned  into  a  dirge,  composed 
for  Sherman  by  Henry  C.  AV'ork. 

"Briiii?  the  j^ood  oltl  bugU',  boys,  wo'll  have  aiiothtT  song, 
Sing  it  witli  a  spirit  tliat  will  start  the  world  along. 
Sing  it  as  wo  used  to  sing  it,  fifty  thousand  stn)ng, 
Wliile  we  were  marching  through  (Jeorgia. 
CnoKis. 
'Hurrah!  Hurrah!  we  l)ring  the  juhilcc! 
Hurrah!  Hurrah!  tlie  Hag  that  makes  you  free!' 
So  we  sang  the  ohorus  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 
While  we  were  marching  tlirough  (Jeorgia. 


332     GENERAL  WILLIAM  TECUMSEII  SHERMAN. 

"  So  we  made  a  thoroughfare  for  Freedom  and  her  train, 
Sixty  miles  in  hititude  —  tliree  hundred  to  tlie  main; 
Treason  fled  before  us,  for  n^sistance  was  in  vain. 
While  we  were  marching  through  (Jeorgia." 

As  the  body  was  taken  on  board  the  ferry-boat,  for  the 
west,  the  Marine  Band  played  the  liymn  :  — 

"  Here  bring  your  bleeding  hearts, 
Here  tell  your  anguish; 
Earth  has  no  sorrow 

That  Heaven  cannot  heal." 

All  along  the  route  to  St.  Louis  great  crowds  gathered 
at  the  stations,  the  old  soldiers  weeping  like  children. 
At  Coshocton,  Ohio,  five  hundred  school-children  stood 
near  the  train,  and  sang  "  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee."  At 
Columbus,  Ohio,  at  the  depot,  Avas  a  large  picture  of 
Sherman  surmounted  by  an  eagle,  and  underneath  the 
words,  "  Ohio's  son,  the  nation's  hero." 

At  St.  Louis  in  the  midst  of  thousands,  after  a  brief 
service  by  his  son.  General  Sherman  was  laid  to  rest  in 
Calvary  Cemetery  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  wlio  liad  died 
a  little  more  tlian  two  years  ])reviously.  Kichard  Watson 
Gilder  voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  nation  : 

"But  better  than  martial  awe,  and  the  pageant  of  civic  sorrow; 
Better  than  praise  of  to-day,  or  the  statue  we  build  to-morrow; 
Better  than  honor  and  glory,  and  history's  iron  i)en. 
Is  the  thought  of  duty  done,  and  the  love  of  his  fellowmen." 


CHARLES  H.  SPURGEON. 


CHARLES  HADDON  SPURGEON. 


No  one  who  has  sat  in  the  great  London  Tabernacle, 
with  its  six  thousand  or  more  eager  listeners,  and  heard 
Spurgeon  preach,  natural,  brotherly,  earnest,  and  elo- 
quent, can  ever  forget  it.  I  have  seen  a  whole  congre- 
gation moved  to  tears,  as  he  talked  of  the  relationship 
between  God  and  His  children,  from  the  words,  "  Abba, 
Father."  To  hear  a  man  like  tliis,  is  always  to  ask  the 
secret  of  his  power.  What  was  the  childhood  and  youth 
that  ushered  in  this  rare  manhood  ?  Did  he  liave  more 
talent,  more  grace,  more  learning,  than  other  nien  ?  He 
had  no  wealth,  no  superior  education,  no  fortuitous  cir- 
cumstances, yet  his  career  has  been  a  remarkable  one. 

"He  is  a  wonderful  man,"  said  Lord  Shaftesbury, 
"full  of  zeal,  affection,  faith;  abounding  in  reputation 
and  authority,  and,  yet  —  perfectly  humble,  with  the 
openness  and  simplicity  of  a  child." 

The  London  Speaker  calls  him  "  one  of  those  born 
orators  of  Avhom  this  generation  lias  seen  only  two,  — 
himself  and  John  Briglit.  Gifted  witli  s])lendid  com- 
mon-sense, with  a  genuiiu^  luimor,  with  a  large-hearted 
love  for  his  fellow-creatures."  .  .  . 

Charles  Iladdon  Spurgeon  was  born  at  Kelvedon, 
Essex,  England,  June  11),  1S,'34,  tlie  eldest  of  seventeen 
children.  His  father,  the  Rev.  Jolni  Spurgeon,  was  a 
pastor  of  the  Independent  or  Congregational  Cliurch,  a 

333 


334  CUARLES  IIADDON  SPUR6E0N. 

genial,  warm-hearted  man,  and  of  fine  presence.  His 
motlier,  a  Miss  Jarvis,  was  a  devoted  Christian  woman, 
esteemed  for  her  good  works  wherever  she  resided. 
The  Rev.  John  Spurgeon  tells  tliis  story  of  his  wife: 
"  I  had  been  from  home  a  great  deal,  trying  to  build  up 
weak  congregations,  and  felt  that  I  was  neglecting  the 
religious  training  of  my  own  children  while  I  toiled  for 
the  good  of  others.    I  returned  home  with  these  feelings. 

"  I  opened  the  door,  and  was  surprised  to  find  none  of 
the  children  about  the  hall.  Going  quietly  up  tlie  stairs, 
I  heard  my  wife's  voice.  She  was  engaged  in  prayer 
with  the  children.  I  heard  her  pray  for  them,  one  by 
one,  by  name.  She  came  to  Charles,  and  specially 
prayed  for  liim,  for  he  was  of  high  spirit  and  daring 
temper.  I  listened  till  she  had  ended  her  prayer,  and  I 
felt  and  said,  '  Lord,  I  will  go  on  with  Thy  work.  The 
children  will  be  cared  for.'  " 

It  is  related  of  her,  after  lier  brilliant  son  Cliarles  had 
become  a  Baptist ;  that  she  said  to  him,  "  I  have  often 
prayed  that  you  might  be  saved,  but  never  that  you 
sliould  become  a  Baptist ;  to  which  he  answered,  witli 
his  accustomed  liumor,  "Tlie  Lord  has  answered  your 
prayer  with  His  usual  bounty,  and  given  you  more  than 
you  asked." 

Mrs.  Spurgeon  died  May  18,  1888,  having  lived  to  see 
the  wonderful  success  of  her  son,  and  be  thankfid  for  it. 
Mr.  Spurgeon  was  much  devoti'd  to  his  mother,  and  her 
death  brought  on  a  severe  attack  of  illness. 

When  Charles  was  quite  young  he  was  carried  to  the 
liouse  of  his  grandfather,  the  Kev.  James  Spurgeon,  who 
preached  for  fifty-four  years  in  the  Independent  Churcli 
in  Stambourne.  When  more  than  eighty  years  old  lie 
said,  "  I  have  not  had  one  hour's  unhappiuess  witli  my 


CHARLES  UADDON  SPURGEON.  835 

church  since  I  have  been  over  it.  .  .  .  I  will  never  give 
up  so  long  as  God  inclines  people  to  come,  and  souls  are 
saved." 

He  possessed  the  not  unusual  combination,  a  large 
family  and  a  small  income,  and  therefore  cultivated  a 
few  acres  of  ground,  and  kept  a  cow.  The  latter  died 
suddenly,  and  Mrs.  Spurgeon  was  much  worried  over  the 
matter. 

"  James,"  she  said,  "  liow  will  God  provide  for  the 
dear  children  now  ?     What  shall  we  do  for  milk  ?  " 

"  Motlier,  God  has  said  that  He  will  provide,  and  I  be- 
lieve that  He  could  send  us  fifty  cows  if  He  pleased," 
was  the  reply. 

That  very  day  in  London,  a  committee  were  distribut- 
ing funds  to  poor  ministers.  The  Rev.  James  Spurgeon 
had  never  asked  aid,  but  all  must  have  known  how 
meagre  was  the  salary  of  a  village  pastor. 

One  of  the  committee  remarked,  "  There  is  a  Mr. 
Spurgeon  down  at  Stambourne,  in  Essex,  who  needs 
some  help." 

One  person  said  he  would  give  five  pounds.  Another 
said,  '"I  will  put  five  pounds  to  it;  I  know  him:  lie  is  a 
worthy  man."  Others  added,  till  there  were  twenty 
pounds  subscribi'd  and  sent  by  letter. 

When  the  letter  reached  the  })reacher's  house.  Mrs. 
S])urgeon  hated  to  ])ay  the  postage,  ninepence.  When 
it  was  opened  she  was  greatly  astonished  to  find  twenty 
pounds,  about  one  hundred  dollars.  Her  liusband  said, 
"Now  can't  you  trust  God  about  a  cow  ?" 

The  Eev.  i\[r.  Spurgeon,  dressed  in  his  knee-breeches, 
buckled  shoes,  silk  stockings,  and  frilled  shirts,  must 
have  been  an  interesting  figure.  He  died  when  he  was 
eighty-eight  years  old. 


336      CHARLES  U ADDON  SPURGEON. 

At  tlie  home  of  this  grandfather  in  his  early  years, 
Charles  found  especial  delight  in  reading  Bunyan's 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  Foxe's  "  Book  of  Martyrs,"  and 
De  Poe's  "  Robinson  Crusoe." 

He  read  the  Scriptures  at  family  prayer,  and  on  one 
occasion  persisted  in  knowing  what  the  "  bottomless  pit " 
in  the  Book  of  Revelation  meant.  "  If  it  had  no  bottom, 
where  did  the  people  go  to  who  dropped  into  it  ?  These 
were  inconvenient  questions  to  answer. 

The  Rev.  Richard  Knill  visited  the  family,  and  was 
shown  about  the  garden  by  the  young  ('liarles.  In  the 
great  yew-tree  arbor  the  good  man  knelt  with  the  lad, 
and,  with  his  arm  about  his  neck,  prayed  for  his  conver- 
sion. In  the  house,  taking  him  on  his  knee,  Mr.  Knill 
said,  "  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  a  solemn  pre- 
sentiment that  this  child  will  preach  the  gospel  to  thou- 
sands, and  God  will  bless  him  to  many  souls. 

''  So  sure  fim  I  of  this,  that  when  my  little  man 
preaches  in  Rowland  Hill's  chapel,  as  he  will  do  one 
day,  I  shoidd  like  him  to  promise  me  that  he  will  give 
out  the  hymn  commencing,  — 

"  God  iiiovos  in  a  mysterious  way 
Jlis  wonders  to  perform!" 

Years  later  the  famous  Charles  Spurgeon  preached  in 
the  pulpit  of  Rowland  Hill,  in  the  largest  Non-conform- 
ist Church  in  London,  before  tlie  INIetropolitan  Taber- 
nacle was  Imilt,  arul  read  the  hymn  desired  by  Mr.  Knill. 

Charles  attended  school  in  Colchester,  to  whicli  town 
his  family  had  moved,  and  became  well  versed  in  Latin 
and  mathematics.  At  an  Agricultural  College  at  Maid- 
stone he  spent  a  year,  and  tlien  Avent  to  Newmarket,  as 
an  assistant  in  the  scliool.     After  a  year  at  the  latter 


CHARLES  H ADDON  SPURGEON.  337 

place,  he  removed  to  Cambridge,  to  assist  a  former 
teacher,  Mr.  Henry  Leeding,  in  a  school  for  young 
men.  Here  he  tauglit,  and  carried  on  his  own  stiidies  as 
well. 

In  January,  1850,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  young  Spur- 
geon  was  converted  in  Colchester.  He  had  been  for  some 
time  troubled  at  heart,  and  determined  to  visit  every 
place  of  worship  in  the  town,  to  see  if  he  could  not  find 
lielp.  *'  What  I  wanted  to  know,"  he  says,  "  was,  '  How 
can  1  get  my  sins  forgiven  ?  '  and  they  never  tohl  mo  tliat. 
I  wanted  to  liear  liow  a  poor  sinner,  under  a  sense  of  sin, 
might  find  i)eace  with  God ;  and  when  I  wont  I  heard  a 
sermon  on,  '  Be  not  deceived ;  God  is  not  mocked,'  which 
cut  me  up  worse,  but  did  not  say  how  I  miglit  escape. 
I  went  again  another  day,  and  the  text  was  something 
about  the  glories  of  the  righteous ;  nothing  for  poor 
me !  .  .  . 

"At  hist  one  snowy  day  —  it  snowed  so  much  T  coukl 
not  go  to  the  j)lace  I  had  determined  to  go  to,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  stop  on  the  road  ;  and  it  was  a  blessed  stop  to 
me  —  I  found  rather  an  obscure  street,  and  turned  down 
a  court,  and  there  was  a  little  cha})el.  I  wanted  to  go 
somewhere,  but  I  did  not  know  this  place.  It  was  the 
Primitive  ]\Iethodist  ChapeL" 

Si)urgeon  went  in  and  sat  down,  waiting  for  tlie  ser- 
vice to  begin.  *'At  last,"  lie  says,  "a  very  tliin-looking 
man  came  into  the  pidpit,  and  o})ened  his  IJibk',  and 
read  these  words,  '  Look  unto  j\Ie,  and  be  ye  saved,  all 
the  ends  of  tlie  eartli.'  Just  setting  liis  eyes  upon  me, 
as  if  he  knew  all  my  heart,  he  said,  '  Young  man,  you  are 
in  trouble.'  Well,  I  was,  sure  enougli.  Says  he,  'You 
will  never  get  out  of  it  unless  you  look  to  Christ.'  And 
then,  lifting  up  his  liands,  he  cried  out,  as  only  a  Primi- 


338  CHARLES  IIADDON  SPURGEON. 

tive  Methodist  could  do,  '  Look,  look,  look !  It  is  only 
look,'  said  he.  I  saw  at  once  the  way  to  salvation.  Oh, 
how  I  did  leap  for  joy  at  that  moment !  I  know  not 
what  else  he  said.  I  did  not  take  much  notice  of  it;  I 
was  so  possessed  with  that  one  thought." 

While  at  Newmarket,  young  Spurgeon  was  immersed 
in  the  River  Lark,  at  Isleham  Ferry,  May  3,  1850,  on  his 
mother's  birthday.  He  had  read  the  Scriptures  for  him- 
self, and  believed  that  they  favored  this  method  of  Bap- 
tism, rather  than  sprinkling.  At  first  the  youth  of 
sixteen,  in  his  round  jacket  and  broad  white  turn-down 
collar,  felt  timid  at  seeing  the  crowds  on  either  side  of 
the  river ;  but  once  in  the  w^ater,  his  fears  left  him,  and 
he  enjoyed  great  peace  at  heart. 

Some  years  later,  Spurgeon  related  a  most  suggestive 
incident.  "  I  was  a  member  of  the  church  at  New- 
market," he  said,  "  when  I  first  joined  the  church,  and 
was  afterwards  transferi-ed  to  the  church  at  Cambridge, 
one  of  the  best  in  England.  I  attended  for  three  Lord's 
Days  at  the  communion,  and  nobody  spoke  to  me.  I  sat 
in  a  ])ew  with  a  gentleman,  and  when  I  got  outside  I 
said,  '  My  dear  friend,  how  are  you  ?  ' 

"  He  said,  '  You  have  the  advantage  of  me  ;  I  don't 
know  you.' 

"  I  said,  *  I  don't  think  I  have,  for  T  don't  know  you. 
But  when  I  came  to  the  Lord's  table,  and  partook  of  the 
memories  of  His  death,  I  thouglit  you  wore  my  brother, 
and  I  thought  1  would  sp<'ak  to  you.' 

"  I  was  only  sixteen  years  of  ag(>,  and  he  said,  '  Sweet 
simplicity  ! ' 

"  *0h,  is  it  true,  sir  ? '  I  said.     '  Ls  it  true  ?  ' 

"  He  said,  '  It  is ;  but  I  am  glad  you  did  not  say  this 
to  any  of  the  deacons.' " 


CHARLES  IIADDON  SPURGEON.  339 

The  stranger  asked  the  lad  home  to  supper,  and  they 
become  good  friends. 

At  once  young  Spurgeon  began  the  Christian  work  for 
which  he  has  ever  been  renowned.  He  revived  a  society 
for  tract  distribution.  He  talked  in  the  Sunday-school, 
and  in  the  vestry  of  the  Independent  Chapel,  where 
many  gathered  to  hear  him. 

Removing  to  the  school  in  Cambridge,  he  joined  the 
"  Lay  Preachers'  Association."  He  was  asked  to  go  to 
the  village  of  Teversham,  four  miles  from  Cambridge,  to 
accompany  a  friend,  for  an  evening  service.  On  the 
way,  Spurgeon  said,  "  I  trust  God  will  bless  your  labors 
to-niglit." 

"  My  labors  ?  "  said  the  friend ;  "  I  never  preached  in 
my  life  ;  I  never  thought  of  doing  such  a  thing.  I  was 
asked  to  walk  with  ijoti,  and  I  sincerely  hope  God  will 
bless  1/oti  in  ?/o«r  preaching." 

Spurgeon  was  astonished;  as  he  says,  "My  inmost  soul 
being  all  in  a  trem])le,  as  to  what  would  hap])en."  The 
youth  of  sixteen  jireached  his  first  sermon  from  the 
words,  "  Unto  you,  therefore,  wliicli  believe  he  is  pre- 
cious," and  spoke  to  the  edification  of  all  present. 

He  was  soon  asked  to  go  to  Waterbeach,  a  small  vil- 
lage, to  supply  the  pulpit.  The  chapel  was  a  rude  one, 
made  out  of  a  barn.  In  a  few  montlis  the  membership 
rose  from  forty  to  nearly  one  hundred.  The  Kev.  Mr. 
I'eters  had  been  tlieir  i)astor  for  twenty-two  years,  re- 
ceiving five  pounds  for  eacli  (piarter  of  the  year. 

At  this  tim(\  says  one  of  the  deacons,  speaking  of  tlie 
young  teaelier.  "  He  looked  so  white,  and  I  tliought  to 
myself,  he^/l  never  be  able  to  preach.  What  a  boy  he 
is  !  .  .  .  I  could  not  make  him  out ;  and  one  day  I 
asked  him  wherever  he  got  all  the  knowledge  from  that 
he  put  into  liis  sermons." 


340   '  CHARLES  IlTtDDON  SPUEGEON. 

"  *  Oh,'  said  Spurgeon,  '  I  take  a  book,  and  I  pull  the 
good  tilings  out  of  it  by  the  hair  of  their  heads.' " 

The  mayor  of  Cambridge  one  day  asked  S})urgeon  if 
he  had  really  told  the  people  at  Waterbeach  "  that  if  a 
thief  got  into  heaven,  he  would  pick  the  angels' 
pockets." 

"Yes,"  replied  Spurgeon,  " I  told  them  that  if  it 
were  possible  for  an  ungodly  man  to  go  to  heaven  with- 
out having  his  nature  changed,  he  would  be  none  the 
better  for  being  there  ;  and  then,  by  way  of  illustration, 
I  said  that  were  a  thief  to  get  in  he  would  remain  a 
thief  still,  and  go  round  the  place  picking  the  angels' 
pockets." 

"  But,  my  dear  young  friend,  don't  you  know  that  the 
angels  have  no  pockets  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  the  yoixthful  preacher ;  but  added, 
with  ready  wit,  "  but  I  am  glad  to  be  assured  of  the  fact 
from  a  gentleman  who  does  know.  I  will  set  it  all 
right." 

Being  urged  by  his  father  and  some  others  to  take  a 
college  course,  he  agreed  to  meet  Dr.  Angus,  the  tutor  of 
Stepney  College,  now  llegents  I'ark,  at  the  house  of  Mac- 
millan,  the  publisher,  at  Cambridge.  Spurgeon  went  at 
the  time  api)ointed,  and  was  shown  into  a  room,  Avhere 
he  waited  for  two  hours  for  the  tutor.  IMeantime,  Dr. 
Angus  had  waited  in  another  room,  each  not  having 
been  informed  of  the  j)resence  of  the  other  by  the  ser- 
vant ;  and,  inuible  to  wait  longer,  had  taken  tlie  train  for 
London.  Tlie  result  was  that  S})urgeon  never  went  to 
College.  At  Cambridge,  on  the  anniversary  of  the  Sun- 
day-school Union  in  ISoS,  S[)urgeon,  then  nineteen,  was 
asked  to  make  an  address.  Mr.  Gould,  a  Baptist  deacon, 
liked  the  address  so  much,  that  he  spoke  of  it  to  Mr. 


CHARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON.  341 

Thomas  Oluey,  one  of  the  deacons  in  New  Park  Street 
Chapel,  South wark,  which  luul  been  one  of  the  hirgest 
and  richest  of  the  I)a})tist  churches  in  London.  Mr. 
Gould  thought  the  Waterbeach  youth  might  put  new 
life  into  the  deteriorating  church. 

Spurgeon  was  invited  to  London  to  preach  a  sermon  in 
December,  1853.  Scarcely  two  hundred  were  in  the 
chapel,  whicli  would  seat  twelve  hundred.  He  preached 
earnestly  from  the  words,  "  Every  good  gift,  and  every 
perfect  gift,  is  from  above."  He  was  invited  to  come 
again  for  three  Sundays  in  January,  and  soon  asked  to 
preach  six  montlis  on  probation. 

He  would  not  promise  for  more  than  three  months. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  the  church  had  filled  so  rapidly, 
that  he  was  called  to  the  pastorate ;  and  before  he  was 
twenty,  in  1854,  was  installed  over  the  IJaptist  Church, 
with  a  salary  of  £150  a  year.  He  came,  as  he  says, 
to  the  great  city  of  London,  "a  country  lad,"  *' wonder- 
ing, praying,  fearing,  hoping,  believing,  .  .  .  all  alone, 
and  yet  not  alone;  expectant  of  Divine  help,  and  in- 
wardly borne  down  by  our  sense  of  the  need  of  it." 

The  church  building  soon  became  too  small  for  the 
crowds  which  gathered  to  hear  him.  He  was  cari(;a- 
tured  in  the  newspapers,  standing  beside  a  ''  i)olished  " 
preacher,  with  his  sermon  on  a  velvet  cushion,  Spurgeon 
being  called  '*  Urimstone  and  Treacle."  Again  he  was 
placarded  as  a  man  selling  tiy-paper,  with  judges,  lords, 
and  workingmen  all  sticking  to  liis  hat.  or  buzzing 
around  him.  This  was  called,  '' Catch-em-alive-() !  " 
He  was  represented  as  ''The  Fast  Train,"  liis  liair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  driving  the  engine.  He  was 
again  pictured  as  a  gorilla.  Hut  INIr.  Spurgeon  kept  on 
preaching,  and  the  interest  deei)«ned. 


342  CIIARLEti  U ADDON   SPUliGEON. 

He  has  followed  the  dying  words  of  the  great  Welsh 
Baptist  minister,  Christmas  Evan's,  who  used  to  drive 
from  town  to  town  in  his  evangelistic  work,  "Drive 
on  !  drive  on  ! " 

"  There  is  such  a  tendency,"  Spurgeon  once  said,  "  to 
pull  up  to  refresh ;  sucli  a  tendency  to  get  out  of  the  gig 
and  say,  '  What  a  wonderful  liorse !  Never  saw  a  horse 
go  over  hill  and  down  dale  like  this  horse  —  the  best 
horse  that  ever  was ;  real  sound  IVIcthodist  or  ]>aptist 
horse.'  Now,  brother,  admire  your  horse  as  much  as 
ever  you  like,  but  drive  on  !  " 

He  worked  day  and  night  among  his  people  when  the 
cholera  scourge  came  in  the  first  year  of  his  London 
pastorate.  Neither  praise  nor  blame  deterred  him  in  hi^ 
work.  His  constant  question  of  his  deacons  was,  lH)th 
there  and  at  Waterbeach,  "  Have  you  heard  of  anybody 
finding  the  Lord?"  One  said,  "I  am  sure  there  has 
been."  "  Oh,"  said  Spurgeon,  "  I  want  to  know  it,  I 
want  to  see  it ; "  and  he  would  at  once  seek  out  the 
inquirer. 

"  I  have  had  nothing  else  to  preach,"  said  Mr.  Spurgeon, 
"but  Christ  crucified.  How  many  souls  there  are  in 
heaven  who  have  found  their  way  there  through  that 
preaching,  how  many  there  are  still  on  earth,  serving 
the  Master,  it  is  not  for  me  to  tell  ;  but  whatever  there 
has  been  of  success  has  been  througli  the  preaching  of 
Clirist  in  the  sinner's  stead." 

The  church  building  soon  became  too  cramped;  and 
while  it  was  being  enlarged,  from  February  to  May, 
18/55,  the  congregation  met  in  Exeter  Hall.  As  the 
Strand  bec^ne  blocked  with  people,  a  Music  Hall  in 
Surrey  Gardens  was  used,  where  ten  thousand  people 
gathered  to  hear  him. 


CHARLES  HADDON  SFUliGEON.  343 

A  serious  accident  soon  occurred  here  through  the  cry 
of  "  Fire  !  "  by  some  malicious  person  ;  and  in  the  eager- 
ness to  rush  out,  seven  persons  were  killed  and  twenty- 
eight  removed  to  hospitals,  badly  injured.  For  days  Mr. 
Spurgeon  was  prostrated  on  account  of  the  accident,  and 
unable  to  })reach. 

After  this,  services  were  held  only  in  the  morning, 
attended  by  the  I'rime  jNIinister,  the  nobility,  and  the 
poor.  Large  numbers  were  converted.  Thirty-five 
years  after  this  time  a  Surrey  Gardens  Memorial  Hall 
was  erected  near  this  spot,  at  a  cost  of  £3,000,  as  one  of 
the  many  mission-homes  in  connection  with  the  Taber- 
nacle work.  This  commemorates  the  many  conversions 
in  these  early  days,  before  the  Tabernacle  was  built. 

The  "Greville  Memoirs"  thus  describes  the  minister  of 
twent^'-three,  j)reaching  to  nine  thousand  pi-opk?  in  the 
Music  Hall.  "  He  is  certainly  very  remarkable,  aiul 
undeniably  a  fine  character,  —  not  renuirkable  in  i)erson; 
in  face  resembling  a  smaller  ]\Iacaulay  ;  a  very  clear  and 
powerful  voice,  which  was  heard  through  the  hall;  a 
manner  natural,  impassioned,  and  witliout  affectation  or 
extravagance  ;  wonderful  fluency  and  command  of  lan- 
guage, abounding  in  illustration,  and  very  often  of  a 
very  familiar  kind,  but  witliout  anything  ridiculous  or 
irreverent.  He  gave  me  an  impression  of  liis  earnestness 
and  sincerity;  speaking  witliout  book  or  iu>tes,  yet  his 
discourse  was  evidently  very  carefully  i)repared.  .  .  . 
He  preached  for  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and,  to 
judge  by  the  use  of  the  luindkerchiefs  and  the  audibli^ 
sobs,  with  great  eifect." 

The  corner-stone  of  the  new  Tabernacle  was  laid 
Aug.  IG,  1859,  by  Sir  Samuel  Moiton  Peto.  The 
building  was  ready  for  occupancy  in  18G1.     The  opening 


344  ClIAULES   IIABDON   Hl'UltGEON. 

services  lasted  a  month,  the  tirst  service  being  a  prayer- 
meeting,  held  at  seven  o'clock  on  Monday  morning, 
March  18.     One  thousand  persons  were  present. 

The  Tabernacle  is  one  hundred  and  forty-six  feet  iu 
length,  and  eighty-one  in  Avidth.  There  are  live  thou- 
sand five  hundred  sittings,  and  many  more  can  be  accom- 
modated. Besides  the  audience-room,  there  are  rooms 
for  Sunday-schools,  working-meetings,  and  the  like. 
The  cost  was  a  little  over  i;31,00(),  all  raised  by  volun- 
tary effort.  All  denominations  gave,  and  all  parts  of 
the  country  responded.  IMr.  Spurgeon  spoke  in  Scotland, 
giving  half  the  receipts  to  some  needy  pastorate,  and 
reserving  half  for  his  new  church.  The  church  build- 
ing has  always  been  crowded,  so  that  pewholders  were 
admitted  at  the  side  doors  by  ticket.  For  many  years 
there  have  been  over  live  thousand  members  in  the 
church. 

Mx-  Spurgeon  once  said,  "  Somebody  asked  me  how  I 
got  my  congregation.  1  never  got  it  at  all.  .  .  .  Why, 
my  congregation  got  my  congregation  !  I  had  eighty,  or 
scarcely  a  hundred,  when  I  first  j)reached.  The  next 
time  I  had  two  hundred  —  every  one  who  had  heard  me 
was  saying  to  his  neighbor,  '  You  must  go  and  hear  this 
young  man.'  Next  meeting  we  had  four  hundred,  and 
in  six  weeks,  eight  hundred." 

It  was  not  enough  for  Mr.  Spnrgeon  that  crowds  were 
flocking  to  hear  him  preach  ;  that  in  Scotland  twenty 
thousand  gathered  at  a  time  to  listen  to  him  ;  that  at  the 
Crystal  Palace,  when  he  was  but  twenty-tlireo,  more  than 
twenty-three,  thousand  ]»eople  earner  togctlier  to  hear  him 
preach,  Oct.  7,  1S57,  the  day  of  national  humiliation 
on  account  of  the  Indian  mutiny. 

Others  had  been  converted,  and  he  wanted  them  to 


CHARLES  n ADDON  SPURGEON.  345 

preach  the  gospel.  They  were  for  the  most  part  poor, 
and  could,  provide  neither  clothing  nor  books  for  their 
term  of  study.     He  needed  a  Pastor's  College. 

It  began  with  one  student,  and  increased  to  several, 
cared  for  in  a  minister's  home,  and  supported  by  Mr. 
Spurgeon. 

This  incident  is  related  by  the  Ilev.  James  J.  Ellis,  of 
the  first  student,  Mr.  T.  W.  IMedhurst.  He  called  upon 
Spurgeon,  and  said  that  he  feared  he  had  made  a  mistake 
in  entering  the  ministry. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Spurgeon. 

''  Well,  I've  been  preaching  for  five  or  six  months,  and 
have  not  heard  of  any  conversions." 

"  You  don't  exj)ect  conversions  every  tinu;  you  preach, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  a^o,  I  don't  expect  them  every  time,"  said  Mr. 
Medhurst. 

"Then  be  it  unto  you  according  to  your  faith,"  was 
the  reply.  '•  If  you  expect  great  things  from  (Jod,  you'll 
get  them  ;  if  you  don't,  you  won't." 

"  The  large  sale  of  my  sermons  in  America,  together 
with  my  dear  wife's  economy,"  writes  iMr.  Spurgeon, 
"enabled  me  to  spend  from  .-tGOO  to  £S0()  a  year  in  my 
own  favorite  work;  but  on  a  sudden  —  owing  to  my 
denunciations  of  the  then  existing  slavery  in  the  States 
—  my  entire  resources  from  that  *  IJrook  C'lierith  '  were 
dried  up.  I  paid  as  large  sums  as  1  could  from  my  own 
income,  and  resolved  to  spend  all  1  had,  and  then  take 
the  cessation  of  my  means  as  a  voice  from  the  I>ord  to 
stay  the  elfort ;  as  I  am  tirmly  persuaded  tliat  we  ouglit, 
under  no  ])retence,  to  go  into  debt." 

This  was  ^fr.  Spurgeon's  life-long  ride.  He  once 
related  tliis  story  of  his  childhood.     He  wanted  a  slate- 


34G  CHARLES  UADBON  SPURGEON. 

pencil,  and  liad  no  money  to  buy  it.  80  he  went  to  the 
shop  of  a  Mrs.  Dearson,  wlio  kept  nuts,  cakes,  and  tops, 
and  got  trusted  for  one,  the  amount  of  debt  being 
one  farthing.  His  father  heard  of  it,  and  reprimanded 
him  severely;  told  the  young  Charles,  '*how  a  boy  who 
Avould  owe  a  farthing,  might  one  day  owe  a  hundred 
pounds,  and  get  into  prison,  and  bring  liis  family  into 
disgrace."  The  child  cried  l^itterly,  and  hastened  to  pay 
the  farthing. 

Mr.  Spurgeon  said  in  later  life,  *'  Debt  is  so  degrading, 
that  if  I  owed  a  man  a  j>enny,  I  would  walk  twenty 
miles,  in  the  depth  of  winter,  to  pay  him,  sooner  than  to 
feel  that  I  was  under  an  obligation.  .  .  .  Poverty  is 
hard,  but  debt  is  horrible.  .  .  .  AVitliout  debt,  without 
care  ;  out  of  debt,  out  of  danger ;  but  owing  and  borrow- 
ing are  bramble-bushes  full  of  thorns.  If  ever  I  borrow 
a  spade  of  my  neighbor,  I  never  feel  safe  with  it  for  fear 
I  should  break  it." 

"  I  was  reduced  to  the  last  pound,"  says  Mr.  Si)ur- 
geon,  "  when  a  letter  came  from  a  banker  in  tlie  city, 
informing  me  that  a  lady,  whose  name  1  liave  never 
been  able  to  discover,  liad  deposited  a  sum  of  £200,  to 
be  used  for  the  education  of  young  men  for  the  ministry. 
.  .  .  Some  weeks  after,  another  £100  came  in  from  the 
same  bank,  as  1  was  informed,  from  another  luuul.  .  .  . 
A  sui)per  was  given  by  my  liberal  jmblishers,  Messrs. 
l^assmore  &  Alabaster,  to  celebrate  the  i)ublishing  of  my 
five-hundredth  weekly  sermon,  at  wliicli  £500  were  raised 
and  presented  to  the  funds.  The  college  grew  every 
month,  and  the  number  of  the  students  rai)i(lly  increased 
from  one  to  forty. 

A  "  weekly  offering  "  was  soon  taken  at  the  church  for 
the  Pastor's  College.     This  in  the  year  18C9  amounted 


CHAELES  H ADDON  SPUltGEON.  347 

to  £1,869.  When  "seasons  of  straitness"  came,  as 
Spurgeon  says,  the  "  Lord  always  interposed."  On  one 
occasion,  £1,000  came  from  an  unknown  source. 

Mr.  G.  Holden  Pike  says  of  these  weekly  offerings, 
"  How  high  a  figure  the  total  reached  nobody  knew ;  for, 
as  Sunday  is  a  day  of  rest,  the  money  would  not  be 
counted  until  the  following  morning.  Gold,  silver,  and 
copper  pieces,  together  with  little  packets  neatly  tied 
witli  thread,  made  up  the  motley  hea[).  One  miniature 
parcel  enclosed  fifteen  shillings  from  '  A  workingman.' 
When  the  whole  mass  was  })hiced  in  a  strong  l)lack  bag, 
I  ventured  to  raise  it  for  the  sake  of  testing  its  weight. 
...  It  was  certainly  the  '  heaviest '  collection  I  had 
ever  set  eyes  upon,  for  it  was  as  nuich  as  one  could  con- 
veniently raise  from  the  table  with  one  arm." 

A  yearly  supper  was  provided  by  Mr.  Spurgeon,  at 
which  guests  gave  as  they  were  al)le  or  inclined.  '■*•  At 
this  supper  in  1891,  £3,000  were  subscribed. 

After  a  time  the  College  buildings  Avere  erected  near 
the  Tabernacle  property.  A  lady  gave  £3,000  as  a  me- 
morial to  her  husband ;  £2,000  were  left  as  a  legacy 
by  a  reader  of  the  sermons.  The  cost  of  the  buildings, 
£15,000,  was  paid  as  soon  as  the  work  was  done. 

The  whole  number  addi'd  to  the  cliurches  by  these 
men  educated  at  the  I'astor's  College  i<^,  as  nearly  as  can 
be  ascertained,  considerably  over  one  hundred  thousand. 
Some  of  these  men  have  gone  t(j  India.  China,  tlie  AVest 
Indies,  Africa,  Australia,  among  tlie  Jews,  and  elsewhere. 

The  annual  address  of  the  President.  Mr.  Spurgeon, 
was  eagerly  looked  for.  That  given  in  lS*>l,"Tlie 
Greatest  Fight  in  the  World,"  in  defence  of  the  Inspira- 
tion of  the  Bible,  has  been  translated  into  French,  Ger- 
man, Danish,  and  other  languages. 


348         '     CHARLES  U ADDON.  SPURGEON. 

In  18G6  another  important  work  was  laid  upon  the 
busy  preacher,  whose  hands  seemed  ah-eady  full.  The 
widow  of  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  Mrs.  Hillyard,  was 
desirous  of  giving  £20,000  to  found  an  orphanage  for 
boys.  She  was  jjersonally  unknown  to  Mr.  Spurgeon,  but 
had  read  his  sermons,  and  had  great  faith  in  his  spiritu- 
ality and  sense. 

Another  lady,  her  husband  having  given  her  £'500 
on  the  twenty-tifth  anniversary  of  their  marriage,  made 
a  present  of  it  to  the  Orphanage.  One  house  was  built 
with  it,  called  "  The  Silver  We-dding  House."  A  gen- 
tleman gave  £  GOO  for  another  house  ;  an  unknown  donor 
£1,000  for  two  other  houses,  and  soon  after  £2,000  more. 

In  1868  the  ]>ai)tist  churches  of  England  gave  Mr. 
Sjmrgeon  £1,765  for  the  Orphanage.  One  building  is 
called  "  The  Merchant's  House ; "  another,  "  The  Work- 
meti's  House." 

At  the  close  of  1869,  all  the  buildings  or  houses  for 
the  orphan  boys  were  completed  in  Stockwell,  on  the 
Clajjliam  Road,  free  from  debt,  at  a  cost  of  £10,200, 
Mrs.  Hillyard's  funds  being  used  for  endowment. 

When  the  funds  were  low,  —  for  Mr.  Spurgeon  says, 
"Our  boys  persist  in  eating,  and  wearing  out  tlieir 
clothes,"  —  money  was  raised  by  a  bazaar,  by  a  fete  on 
his  birthday,  or  in  some  other  way. 

The  long  row  of  attractive  houses  for  boys  did  not  till 
IVfr.  Spurgeon's  heart ;  there  must  be  similar  homes  for 
girls. 

In  September,  1870,  Mr.  Spurgeon  writes,  "  Our  friends 
know  that  we  bought  a  house  and  grounds  called  "  The 
Hawthorns,"  for  £4,000.  This  we  needed  to  pay  for. 
For  various  reasons  the  i)ayment  of  the  i)urchase-money 
for  '  The  Hawthorns '  was  delayed  until  July  '30  ;  and  on 


CHARLES  U ADDON  SPURGEON.  349 

that  very  morning  we  received  a  letter  telling  us  that  a 
gentleman  had  died,  and  left  £1,500  for  the  Girls'  Or- 
phanage, thus  bringing  up  our  total  to  within  a  very  small 
sum  of  the  amount  required.  The  whole  £4,000  is  now 
secured,  including  this  legacy,  and  the  property  is  our 
own."  ^ 

Not  long  after,  the  £11,000  necessary  for  the  first 
block  of  buildings  was  obtained. 

In  January,  1882,  a  great  bazaar  was  held,  which  in 
three  days  netted  the  sum  of  £2,000  for  the  Girls' 
Orphanage.  In  his  opening  speech  at  this  bazaar  Mr. 
Spurgeon  said,  "  We  don't  want  to  sell  anything  that  is 
not  worth  the  money  paid  for  it ;  for  we  think  that  such 
should  not  be  the  case  when  the  object  is  to  benefit 
orphan  children.  When  you  leave  here,  you  need  not 
be  in  the  plight  of  the  gentleman  who  was  met  by  foot- 
pads on  his  way  home.  '  Your  money  or  your  life  ! ' 
demanded  one  of  them. 

"'My  dear  fellow,  I  have  not  a  farthing  about  me. 
Do  you  know  where  I  have  been  ?  I  have  been  to  a 
bazaar.' 

*'  *■  Oh,  if  you've  been  to  a  bazaar,  we  should  not  think 
of  taking  any  money  from  you.  We'll  make  a  subscrip- 
tion all  round,  and  give  you  something  to  help  you  home.' 
That  is  a  bazaar  as  it  ought  not  to  be." 

About  one  thousand  boys  and  girls  are  now  in  the 
Stockwcll  Orphanage,  the  larger  number  of  the  children 
coming  from  Church  of  England  families.  Some  are 
also  from  lloman  Oatliolic,  Presbyterian,  and  Metliodist 
families,  as  well  as  Ikiptist. 

Mr.  Spurgeon  tells  this  story  :  "  Sitting  down  in  the 
Ori)hanage  grounds,  ujion  one  of  the  seats,  we  were  talking 
with  a  brother  trustee,  when  a  funny  little  fellow,  we 


350      CHARLES  n ADDON  SPURGEON. 

should  think  about  eight  years  of  age,  left  the  other  boys 
who  were  playing  around  us,  and  came  deliberately  up  to 
us.  He  opened  fire  in  this  fashion,  *  Please,  Mister 
Spurgeon,  I  wants  to  come  and  sit  down  on  the  seat  be- 
tween you  two  gentlemen.' 

" '  Come  along,  Bob  and  tell  us  what  you  want.' 

" '  Please,  Mister  Spurgeon,  suppose  there  was  a  little 
boy  who  had  no  father,  who  lived  in  an  orphanage  with 
a  lot  of  other  little  boys  who  had  no  fathers ;  and  sui> 
pose  those  little  boys  had  mothers  and  aunts  who  comed 
once  a  month  and  brought  them  apples  and  oranges,  and 
gave  them  pennies ;  and  suppose  this  little  boy  had  no 
mother  and  no  aunt,  and  so  never  came  to  bring  him  nice 
things ;  don't  you  think  somebody  ought  to  give  him  a 
penny  ?     'Cause,  Mister  Spurgeon,  that's  me!  " 

Bob  received  a  sixpence  from  Mr.  Spurgeon,  and  went 
away  with  face  all  aglow. 

The  Orphanage  covers  four  acres.  Each  house  is  com- 
plete in  itself,  and  has  its  own  "mother."  The  boys  dine 
in  a  common  hall ;  the  girls  in  their  respective  houses. 
Both  boys  and  girls  assist  in  domestic  duties.  "The 
children  are  not  dressed  in  a  uniform,"  says  Mr.  Spur- 
geon, "  to  mark  them  as  the  recipients  of  charity." 

In  187G  the  Redpath  Lecture  Bureau  of  Boston  asked 
Mr.  Spurgeon  to  come  to  America  and  lecture,  they  offer- 
ing to  pay  him  $1,000  in  gold  for  each  lecture,  and  all 
expenses  from  England  to  America  and  return  ;  Init  lie 
declined  the  offer.  He  did  not  care  to  lecture,  and 
would  not  preach  for  money. 

On  Wednesday  evening,  June  IS,  18<S4,  a  remarkable 
jubilee  service  was  held  in  the  Tabernacle  on  ]\Ir.  Sjjur- 
geon's  fiftieth  birthday.  Among  the  speakers  was  Mr. 
Spurgeon's  father,  the  Kev.  John  Spurgeon;  his  brother, 


CUARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON.  851 

the  Hev.  James  A.  Spurgeon,  of  whom  Charles  said,  "  If 
there  is  a  good  man  on  the  earth,  I  think  it  is  my 
brother ; "  and  the  son  of  the  great  preacher,  young 
Charles  Spurgeon,  one  of  tlie  twins,  affectionately  called 
by  the  people,  Charlie  and  Tommy.  Both  are  ministers 
of  the  gospel.  D.  L.  Moody  from  xVmerica  also  made 
an  earnest  address. 

On  the  following  evening  the  good  Earl  of  Shaftes- 
bury presided,  and  spoke  with  his  wonted  power. 
"Whatever  Mr.  Spurgeon  is  in  private  he  is  in  the 
pulpit,"  said  the  earl ;  "  and  what  he  is  in  the  pulpit  he 
is  in  private.  He  is  one  and  the  same  man  in  every 
aspect;  and  a  kinder,  better,  honester,  nobler  man  never 
existed  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

Canon  Basil  Wilberforce,  the  son  of  the  Bishop,  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Newman  Hall,  and  others  spoke.  The  Rev. 
Dr.  O.  P.  Clifford  presented  an  address  from  the  Baptist 
ministers  of  Boston  and  vicinity. 

A  Spurgeon  Jubilee  Fund  of  ■t4;"),000  was  given  at  this 
time.  Five  years  previously  a  larger  sum  was  given  liim, 
dB3,()00  of  it  being  raised  by  a  bazafir ;  and  a  large  part 
of  this  money  was  used  for  seventeen  almshouses,  in 
which  are  the  aged  members  of  the  Tabernacle.  These 
are  near  the  Elephant  and  Castle  Station. 

Another  important  agency  for  Christian  work  in  con- 
nection witli  the  Tabernacle  is  tlie  ('olportagc^  Associa-. 
tion,  founded  in  ISdG.  Tlu;  colporteurs  sell  religious 
books,  conduct  t^'iiip*^'''^"*^^'  '^^"^  ojx'u-air  uu'ctings,  dis- 
tribute tr.'uits.  visit  the  sick,  and  are  really  honu^  mis- 
sionaries. The  yearly  distribution  is  about  a  half 
million  Bibles,  and  as  many,  or  more,  books  and 
periodicals. 

Mr.    Spurgeon   loved    to   give   away   the   Bible.      He 


352  CHARLES  11  ADDON  SPUliGEON. 

once  said  before  the  British  and  Foreign  Bible  Society, 
''  Somebody  may  say  it  is  of  very  little  nse  to  give  away 
Bibles  and  Testaments.  That  is  a  very  great  mistake. 
I  have  very  seldom  found  it  to  be  a  labor  in  vain  to  give 
a  present  of  a  Testament.  I  was  greatly  astonished 
about  a  month  ago.  A  cabman  drove  me  home,  and  when 
I  paid  him  his  fare,  he  said,  *  It  is  a  long  time  since  I 
drove  you  last,  sir.' 

"  *  But,'  said  I,  '  I  do  not  recollect  you  ! ' 

*' '  Well,'  he  said,  '  I  think  it  is  fourteen  years  ago ; 
but,'  he  added,  'perhaps  you  will  know  this  Testament?' 
pulling  one  oiit  of  his  jjocket. 

"  '  What,'  I  said,  '  did  I  give  you  that  ? '  " 

"  '  Ob,  yes  ! '  he  said ;  '  and  you  si:)oke  to  me  about  ray 
soul,  and  nobody  had  done  that  before,  and  1  have  never 
forgotten  it.' 

" '  What,'  said  I,  '  haven't  you  worn  it  out  ? ' 

"  'No,'  he  said,  'I  would  not  wear  it  out;  I  have  had 
it  bound." ' 

Besides  this  society,  there  are  ten  Bible  classes  in  the 
Tabernacle ;  a  Loan  Tract  Society,  for  the  distribution 
of  Mr.  S})urgeon's  sermons  in  the  neighborhood,  and  an- 
other to  spread  them  in  country  districts ;  a  Flower  Mis- 
sion, Maternal  Society,  Mothers'  Meetings,  Training  Class 
for  workers,  and  the  like.  There  are  twenty-three  mis- 
fjion  stations  in  connection  with  the  Tabernacle,  and 
twenty-seven  Sunday-schools,  with  over  eight  thousand 
scholars. 

Witlj  all  this  work,  Mr,  Spurgeon  was  a  vohiminous 
writer,  as  well  as  si)eaker.  He  })ublished  thirty -seven 
volumes  of  sermons,  all  of  which  have  had  an  immense 
circulation.  These  were  regularly  printed  in  many 
papers.      In    Australia  some   of   tliese  were   published 


CUARLES  UADDON  SPUJtGEON.  353 

and  paid   for   as   advertisements,  at   a  fabulous    price, 
by  a  gentleman  deeply  interested  in  doing  good. 

The  Rev.  Thomas  Spurgeon  wrote  home  to  his  father, 
from  Australia,  "  I  received  a  visit,  in  Geelong,  from  a 
man  who  jjroduced  from  his  pocket  a  torn  and  discolored 
copy  of  T/ie  Australasian,  dated  June,  18G8,  which 
contained  a  sermon  by  C.  H,  Spurgeon,  entitled,  '  The 
Approachableness  of  Jesus '  (No.  809).  To  this  sermon 
my  visitor  attributed  his  conversion. 

"He  lived  alone,  about  twenty  miles  from  Geelong, 
and  had  not  entered  a  place  of  worsliip  more  than  four 
or  live  times  in  twenty  years,  and  had  taken  to  drink, 
until  delirium  tremens  seized  upon  him.  When  partially 
recovered,  with  not  a  human  being  near,  his  eye  lighted 
on  the  sermon  in  the  newspaper,  which  brought  him  to 
Jesus." 

Mr.  Pike  says  an  admirer  of  Mr.  Si)urgeon  gave  away 
a  quarter  of  a  million  copies  of  these  sermons.  Many 
were  elegantly  bound,  and  priisented  to  tlie  crowned 
heads  of  Europe.  Otliers  were  sent  to  every  member  of 
I'arliament,  and  to  all  the  students  of  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge. Many  of  these  sermons  have  l>een  translated 
into  German,  French,  Welsh,  Italian,  Swedish,  Danish, 
Russian,  Si)anish,  Gaelic,  Hungarian,  Arabic,  Telegu, 
Hindustani,  Syriac,  and  other  languages. 

These  sermons  have  been  scattered  all  over  the  world.  ■ 
At  P)ryher,  one  of  tlie  Scilly  Isles,  with  a  population  of 
one  hundred  and  twenty  persons,  Spurgeon's  sermons 
are  often  road  in  tlie  chapel.  In  Silesia  and  Kussian 
Roland,  many  asked  about  "  P>rother  Spurgeon,"  and 
read  his  sermons.  On  the  Labrador  coast  they  were 
read  in  a  mission  cliurcli  Sunday  after  Sunday. 

In  1880  a  Red  Kaffir,  liviiig  at  Port  Elizabeth,  South 
Africa,  wrote  to  Mr.  Spurgeon:  — 


354  CHARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  don't  know  how  to  describe  my  joy  and 
my  feelings  in  this  present  moment.  We  never  did  see 
each  other  face  to  face,  but  still  there  is  something  be- 
tween you  and  me  which  guided  me  to  make  these  few 
lines  for  you.  One  day,  as  I  was  going  to  my  daily 
work,  I  met  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  street.  We  spoke 
about  the  word  of  God,  and  he  asked  me  whether  I  had 
ever  seen  one  of  JNIr.  Spurgeon's  books.  .  .  . 

''  He  said  he  bought  it  from  a  bookseller.  I  asked 
the  name  of  the  book,  and  he  said  it  Avas  '  The  Metropol- 
itan Tabernacle  Pulpit; '  and  I  went  straight  to  the  shop, 
and  bought  one.  I  liave  read  a  good  bit  of  it.  On  my 
reading  it,  I  arrived  on  a  place  where  Job  said,  *  Though 
he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him.' 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell  how  to  describe  the  goodness 
you  have  done  to  us,  we  black  people  of  South  Africa. 
We  are  black  not  only  outside,  even  inside ;  I  wouldn't 
mind  to  be  a  ])lack  man  only  in  color.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  be  a  black  man  from  the  soul  to  the  skin ;  b\it 
still  I  am  very  glad  to  say  your  sermons  have  done 
something  good  to  me."  .  .  . 

David  Livingstone  carried  one  of  these  sermons  with 
him,  No.  408,  entitled  "Accidents  not  Punishments,"  in 
his  last  sad  journey  to  Africa.  Yellow  and  travel- 
stained  it  was  found  by  his  daughter  Mrs.  Bruce  in  his 
boxes  after  his  death.  He  had  written  across  the  top, 
"  Very  (lood.    D.  L." 

His  son  Tliomas  writes  his  mother  from  Auckland, 
New  Zealand,  concerning  sermon  No.  735,  "Loving 
Advice  for  Anxious  Seekers,"  copied  into  the  Melbourne 
Argils,  "  This  scrap  of  newspaper  has  been  given  to  me 
by  a  town  missionary  here,  who  regards  it  as  a  very  pre- 
cious relic.     It  came  to  him  from  a  man  who  died  in  the 


CHARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON.  355 

hospital,  and  bequeathed  it  to  his  visitor  as  a  great  treas- 
ure. The  man  found  it  on  the  tloor  of  a  hut  in  Austra- 
lia, and  was  brought  by  its  perusal  to  a  knowledge  of 
the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus.  He  kept  it  carefully  while  he 
lived  (for  it  was  discolored  and  torn  when  he  found  it), 
and  *on  his  death-bed  gave  it  to  the  missionary  as  the 
only  treasure  he  had  to  leave  behind  him." 

In  writing  "  The  Treasury  of  David,"  seven  volumes, 
Mr.  Spurgeon  spent  a  considerable  part  of  twenty  years. 
"During  the  whole  of  tliat  period,"  says  the  Rev.  Robert 
Shindler,  in  his  valuable  life  of  Spurgeon,  "Mr.  J.  L. 
Keys,  one  of  Mr.  Spurgeon's  secretaries,  continued  to 
search  the  library  of  the  British  jVIuseum,  and  other  li- 
braries, and  to  cull  from  every  available  source  everything 
worthy  of  quotation  upon  the  book  of  Psalms."  Over 
one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  volumes  have  been 
sold.  Dr.  Philip  Schaff  thought  it  "the  most  impor- 
tant homiletical  and  practical  work  of  the  age  on  the 
Psalter." 

Of  Spurgeon's  "  Morning  by  Morning"  and  "  Evening 
by  Evening,"  for  home  reading  and  devotions,  over  two 
hundred  thousand  copies  have  been  sold. 

"  Commenting  and  Commentaries "  was  a  work  of 
great  labor,  showing  his  students  and  others  wliat  to 
use.  "  If  I  can  save  a  poor  man,"  he  wrote,  "  from 
spending  his  money  for  that  whicli  is  not  bread,  or,  by 
directing  a  brother  to  a  good  book,  may  enable  liim  to 
dig  deeper  into  the  mines  of  trutli,  I  sliall  V)e  well  rt^paid. 
For  this  purpose  I  have  toiled,  and  read  mucli,  and 
passed  under  review  some  three  or  four  thousand 
volumes." 

Twenty-seven  volumes  of  the  Svord  and  Trowel,  Mr. 
Spurgeon's  magazine,  have  had  an  enormous  circulation. 


356  CHARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON. 

This  is  also  true  of  "  Lectures  to  My  Students,"  abound- 
ing in  sensible  suggestions.  To  those  about  to  become 
ministers  he  says  :  — 

"  Avoid  little  debts,  unpunctuality,  gossiping,  nick- 
naming, petty  quarrels,  and  all  other  of  those  little  vices 
Avhich  fill  tlie  ointment  with  flies.  .  .  . 

"Even  in  your  recreations,  remember  that  you  are 
ministers.  .  .  .  His  private  life  must  ever  keep  good 
tune  with  liis  ministry,  or  his  day  will  soon  set  with  him, 
and  the  sooner  he  retires  the  better ;  for  his  continuance 
in  his  office  will  only  dishonor  the  cause  of  God  and  ruin 
himself." 

Spurgeon  urged  private  prayer  upon  his  young  men, 
and  related  this  incident  from  Father  Faber:  ''A  certain 
preacher,  whose  sermons  converted  men  by  the  scores, 
received  a  revelation  from  heaven  tliat  not  one  of  the 
conversions  was  owing  to  his  talents  or  eloquence,  but 
all  to  tlie  prayers  of  an  illiterate  lay  brother,  who  sat  on 
the  j)ulpit  steps,  pleading  all  the  time  for  the  success  of 
the  .sermon." 

Tlie  great  John  Knox  used  to  say  he  "  wondered  how 
a  Christian  could  lie  in  liis  bed  all  night  and  not  ri.se  to 
pray." 

Of  public  prayer,  Spurgeon  said,  "  Do  not  let  your 
prayer  be  long.  .  .  .  'He  prayed  me  into  a  good  frame  of 
mind,'  George  Wliitefield  once  said  of  a  certain  preaclier, 
'  and  if  he  had  stopped  there,  it  would  have  been  very 
well ;  but  he  prayed  me  out  of  it  again  by  keeping  on.'  " 

Of  the  sermon  he  said,  "  Preach  Christ  always  and 
evermore.  He  is  tlie  whole  gospel.  .  .  .  Your  puljjit 
preparations  are  your  first  business.  A  man  great  at  tea- 
drinkings,  evening  parties,  and  Sunday-school  excursions 
is  generally  little  everywhere  else. 


CHARLES  II  AD  DON  SPURGEON.  357 

"  The  sensible  minister  will  be  particnlarly  gentle  in 
argument,"  said  Spurgeon.  "  He  should  take  care  not  to 
engross  all  the  conversation,"  and  at  the  same  time,  "  do 
not  be  a  dummj'." 

"  Have  a  good  word  to  say  to  each  and  every  member 
of  the  family,  —  the  big  boys  and  the  young  ladies  and 
the  little  girls  and  everybody.  No  one  knows  what  a 
smile  and  a  hearty  sentence  may  do.  A  man  who  is  to 
do  much  with  men  must  love  them,  and  feel  at  home  witli 
them.  An  individual  who  has  no  geniality  about  him 
had  better  be  an  undertaker,  and  bury  the  dead,  for  he 
will  never  succeed  in  influencing  the  living." 

"  Be  cool  and  confident.  As  Sydney  Smith  says,  '  A 
great  deal  of  talent  is  lost  to  the  world  for  want  of  a  lit- 
tle courage.'  .  .  .  When  a  speaker  feels,  *  I  am  master 
of  the  situation,'  he  usually  is  so." 

"  H  a  man  would  speak  without  any  present  study,  he 
must  usually  study  much."  This  INlr.  Sjuirgeon  exem- 
plified in  his  own  life.  Dr.  Theodore  Cuyler  of  New 
York  wrote,  after  visiting  Spurgeon  at  his  home,  "  AVest- 
wood,"  Beulah  Hill,  Upper  Norwood,  "  a  rural  paradise," 
as  he  says,  "Saturday  afternoon  is  his  holiday.  For  an 
hour  lie  conducted  us  over  his  deliglitful  grounds,  and 
through  his  garden  and  conservatory,  and  then  to  a  rustic 
arbor,  where  be  entertained  us  with  one  of  his  racy  talks, 
which  are  as  cliaracteristic  as  his  sermons.  .  .  . 

*'  It  was  six  o'clock  on  Saturday  when  we  bade  liim 
*  Good-by,'  and  he  assured  us  that  he  liad  not  yet 
selected  even  the  texts  for  next  day's  discourses.  '  1 
shall  go  down  in  the  garden  presently,'  said  lie,  •  and 
arrange  my  morning  discourse  and  choose  a  text  for  that 
in  the  evening;  then  to-morrow  afternoon,  before  preach- 
ing, I  will  make  an  outline  of  the  second  one.'  .  .  .     He 


358  ClIAULES  II ADDON  SPUltGEON. 

never  composes  a  sentence  in  advance,  and  rarely  si)ends 
over  halt'  an  hour  in  laying  out  the  plan  of  a  sermon. 
Constant  study  fills  his  mental  cask,  and  he  has  only  to 
turn  the  spigot  and  draw." 

Again  he  says,  "  To  acquire  the  art  of  impromptu 
speech,  one  must  practise  it.  It  was  by  slow  degrees,  as 
Burke  says,  that  Charles  Fox  became  the  most  brilliant 
and  powerful  debater  that  ever  lived.  He  attributed 
his  success  to  the  resolution  which  he  formed  when  very 
young  of  speaking  well  or  ill  at  least  once  every  night. 
*  During  five  whole  seasons,'  he  used  to  say,  *  I  spoke 
every  night  but  one,  and  I  regret  only  that  I  did  not 
speak  on  that  night  too.'  At  first  he  may  do  so  with  no 
other  auditory  than  the  chairs  and  books  of  his  study." 

Mr.  Spurgeon's  suggestions  about  voice,  gesture,  and 
throat  are  helpful.  "Think  nothing  little,"  he  says,  '-by 
which  you  may  be  even  a  little  more  useful.  IJut, 
gentlemen,  never  degenerate  in  this  business  into  jiulpit 
fops,  who  think  gesture  and  voice  to  be  evei-y thing.  .  .  . 
When  you  have  done  preaching,  take  care  of  your 
throat  by  never  wrapping  it  up  tightly.  ...  If  any 
brother  wants  to  die  of  influenza,  let  him  wear  a  warm 
scarf  round  his  neck,  and  then  one  of  these  nights  he 
will  forgot  it,  and  catch  such  a  cold  as  will  last  him  the 
rest  of  his  natural  life.  You  seldom  see  a  sailor  wrap 
his  neck  up."  Mr.  Spurgeon  used  beef-tea,  strong  witii 
pepper,  for  his  throat,  or  a  little  glass  of  Chili  vinegar 
and  water. 

"l?eware  of  being  actors!  Never  give  earnest  men  the 
impression  tliat  you  do  not  mean  what  you  say,  and  are 
mere  professionals.  To  be  burning  at  the  lips  and  freez- 
ing at  the  soul  is  a  mark  of  reprobation.  .  .  . 

"  Away  with  gold  rings  and  cliains  and  jewellery  ! 
"Why  should  the  pulpit  become  a  goldsmith's  shop  ?  " 


CHARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON.  359 

To  gain  and  keep  the  attention,  he  says,  "  The  first 
gohlen  rule  is,  always  say  something  worth  hearing.  .  .  . 
Let  the  good  matter  which  you  give  them  be  very  clearly 
arranged.  ...  Be  sure,  moreover,  to  speak  plainly.  .  .  . 
Do  not  make  the  introduction  too  long.  ...  Be  inter- 
ested yourself,  and  you  will  interest  others.  .  ,  .  Many 
ministers  are  more  than  half  asleep  all  through  the  ser- 
mon; indeed,  they  never  were  awake  at  any  time,  and 
probably  never  will  be  unless  a  cannon  should  be  fired 
off  near  their  ear. 

"  A  very  useful  help  in  securing  attention  is  a  pause. 
Pull  up  short  every  now  and  then,  and  the  passengers  on 
your  coach  will  wake  uj).  .  .  .  The  next  best  thing  to 
the  grace  of  God  for  a  preacher  is  oxygen.  Tray  tliat 
the  windows  of  heaven  may  be  oi)ened,  but  begin  by 
opening  the  windows  of  your  meeting-house. 

*'  Be  masters  of  your  Bibles,  brethren.  .  .  .  Having 
given  precedence  to  the  inspired  writings,  neglect  no 
field  of  knowledges.  .  .  .  Know  nothing  of  parties  and 
cliques,  but  be  tlie  pastor  of  all  the  fiock,  and  care  for 
all  alike." 

He  urged  them  not  to  mind  gossips,  "who  drink  tea 
and  talk  vitriol;"  and  "to  opinions  and  remarks  about 
yourself  turn  also,  as  a  general  rule,  the  blind  eye  and 
the  deaf  ear." 

Of  Mr.  Spurgcon's  most  ])()pular  books,  "  John  I'lough- 
man's  Talk;  or,  Plain  Advice  for  Tlain  People,"  and 
"John  Ploughman's  Pictures;  or,  More  of  ]Iis  IMain 
Talk  for  Plain  People,"  over  four  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  volumes  have  been  sold.  These  are  full  of 
helpful  Avords  in  homely  garb,  but  most  useful  for  rich 
and  poor  alike. 

"  Don't  wait  for  helpers,"  he  says.     ''  Try  those  two 


3G0  CHARLES   II ADDON  SPUIiGEON. 

old  friends,  youv  jjtrong  arms.  .  .  .  Don't  be  whining 
about  not  having  a  fair  start.  .  .  .  The  more  you  have 
to  begin  with,  tlie  less  you  will  have  at  the  end.  ]\Ioney 
you  earn  yourself  is  much  brighter  and  sweeter  than  any 
you  get  out  of  dead  men's  bags.  ...  As  for  the  place 
you  are  cast  in,  don't  find  fault  with  that.  You  need 
not  be  a  horse  because  you  were  born  in  a  stable.  .  .  . 
A  fool  may  make  money,  but  it  needs  a  wise  man  to 
spend  it.  If  you  give  all  to  back  and  board,  there  is 
nothing  left  for  the  savings  bank.  Fare  hard  and  work 
hard  while  you  are  young,  and  you  have  a  chance  of  rest 
when  you  are  old.  .  .  .  No  matter  wiiat  comes  in,  if 
more  goes  out  j^ou  will  always  be  poor.  .  .  .  l*lod  is  the 
word.  Every  one  must  row  with  such  oars  as  he  has. 
.  .  .  Never  be  security  for  more  than  you  are  quite 
willing  to  lose." 

Spurgeon  was  an  untiring  worker.  He  hatl  no  respect 
for  idleness.  "  Many  of  our  scpiires,"  he  said,  "  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  part  their  hair  in  the  middle;  and 
many  of  the  London  grandees,  ladies  and  gentlemen 
both  alike,  as  I  am  told,  have  no  better  work  than  kill- 
ing time.  .  .  .  The  greater  these  people  are,  the  more 
their  idleness  is  noticed,  and  the  more  they  ought  to  be 
asliaraed  of  it. 

"  I  don't  say  they  ought  to  plough,  but  1  do  say  tliat 
they  ought  to  do  something  for  tlie  state,  besides  being 
like  the  caterpillars  on  the  cabbage,  eating  up  the  good 
things ;  or  like  the  butterflies,  showing  themselves  off, 
but  making  no  honey.  .  .  . 

"Let  me  drop  on  these  Surrey  Hills,  worn  out  .  .  . 
sooner  than  eat  bread  and  cheese  and  never  earn  it ; 
better  die  an  honorable  deatli,  than  live  a  good-for-noth- 
ing life. 


CUARLES  UADBON  SPURGEON.  361 

"Rash  vows  are  much  better  broken  than  kept.  He 
who  never  changes,  never  mends.  .  .  .  Learn  to  say 
*No/  and  it  will  be  of  more  use  to  you  than  to  be  able  to 
read  Latin. 

"  An  open  mouth  shows  an  empty  head.  Still  waters 
are  the  deepest,  but  the  shallowest  brook  brawls  the 
most.  .  .  .  Beware  of  every  one  who  swears ;  he  who 
would  blaspheme  his  Maker  would  make  no  bones  of 
lying  or  stealing.  .  .  .  Commit  all  your  secrets  to  no 
man  .  .  .  seeing  that  men  are  but  men,  and  all  men  are 
frail." 

In  "John  Ploughman's  Pictures  "he  says,  "  He  who 
cainiot  curb  his  temper  carries  gunpowder  in  his  bosom, 
and  he  is  neither  safe  for  himself  nor  his  neighbors.  .  .  . 
Anger  is  a  fire  which  cooks  no  victuals,  and  comforts  no 
households  ;  it  cuts  and  curses  and  kills,  and  no  one 
knows  what  it  may  lead  to.  .  .  .  It  takes  a  great  deal 
out  of  a  man  to  get  in  a  towering  rage  ;  it  is  almost  as 
unhealthy  as  having  a  fit.  .  .  .  Shun  a  furious  man  as 
3^ou  would  a  mad  dog.  ...  A  man  in  a  thorough  pas- 
sion is  as  sad  a  sight  as  to  see  a  neighbor's  house  on  fire, 
and  no  water  handy  to  put  out  the  flames."  ]\Ir.  Spur- 
geon's  books  nund)er  about  one  hundred  volumes. 

Mr.  Spurgeon  was  blest  in  his  homcMife.  On  Jan.  8, 
185(5,  he  married  Susannah  Thompson,  daughter  of  I\Ir. 
Robert  Tli(uupson,  of  Falcon  Scpiare.  He  was  married 
in  new  Park  Street  Cliapcl,  before  the  Tabernacle  was 
built.  The  church  was  full  at  the  ceremony,  while  two 
thousand  ]»ersons  outside  were  unable  to  enter. 

Their  twin  sons,  Charles  and  Thomas,  their  oul}'  chil- 
dren, have  always  been  a  comfort  to  them.  The  wife 
has  long  been  an  invalid,  but  has  been  enabled  to  do 
great  good  in  her  home  and  out  of  it. 


362  CHARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON. 

Mr.  Spurgeon  once  said  of  her,  **  My  experience  of  my 
first  wife,  who  will,  I  hope,  live  to  be  my  last,  is  much 
as  follows :  Matrimony  came  from  Paradise,  and  leads  to 
it.  I  never  was  half  so  happy  before  I  was  a  married 
man  as  I  am  now.  ...  I  have  no  doubt  that  wliere 
there  is  much  love  there  will  bo  much  to  love,  and  where 
love  is  scant,  faults  will  be  plentiful.  If  there  is  only 
one  good  wife  in  England,  I  am  the  man  who  put  the 
ring  on  her  finger,  and  long  may  she  wear  it.  God  bless 
the  dear  soul !  if  she  can  put  up  ivith  me,  she  shall  never 
be  put  down  by  me." 

From  Hull  he  once  wrote  her  a  poem,  beginning, — 

"  Over  the  space  that  parts  us,  my  wife, 
I'll  cast  ine  a  bridge  of  song  : 
Our  hearts  shall  meet,  O  joy  of  my  life, 
On  its  arch  unseen,  but  strong." 

"  Unkind  and  domineering  husbands,"  he  said,  "■  ought 
not  to  pretend  to  be  Christians,  for  they  act  clean  con- 
trary to  Christ's  commands." 

Mr.  Si)urgeon  once  said  of  home,  "That  word  home 
always  sounds  like  poetry  to  me.  It  sings  like  a  peal  of 
bells  at  a  wedding,  only  more  soft  and  sweet,  and  it 
cliimes  deeper  into  the  ears  of  my  heart." 

Concerning  beer-shops  he  wrote,  "  Beer-shops  are  the 
enemies  of  home,  and  therefore  the  sooner  tlieir  licences 
are  taken  away  the  better.  .  .  .  Those  beer-shops  are 
the  curse  of  this  country ;  no  good  ever  can  come  of 
them,  and  the  evil  tliey  do  no  tongue  can  tell.  ...  I 
wish  the  man  wlio  made  the  law  to  open  tliem  had  to 
keep  all  the  families  that  they  have  brouglit  to  ruin." 

Again  he  writes,    "  Certain  neighbors  of  mine  laugh 


CHARLES  IIABBON  SPUliGEON.  363 

at  me  for  being  a  teetotaller,  and  I  might  Avell  laugh  at 
tliem  for  being  drunk,  only  I  feel  more  inclined  to  cry 
that  they  should  be  such  fools." 

Mrs.  Spurgeon's  "  Book  Fund  "  ^  is  well  known.  In 
the  summer  of  1875  Mr.  Spurgeon  })ublished  the  first 
volume  of  ''  Lectures  to  ]\Iy  Students."  His  wife,  feel- 
ing that  they  would  do  great  good,  desired  to  place  them 
in  the  hands  of  ministers.  Speaking  to  her  husband 
about  it,  he  said.  "  A\  by  not  do  so  ?  How  much  will  you 
give  ?  " 

She  had  been  keeping  for  years  all  the  crown-pieces 
which  came  in  her  way ;  and  on  counting  them,  found 
that  slie  had  just  enough  to  send  away  one  hundred 
co})ies  of  the  book.  Others  learned  of  this  work,  and 
were  glad  to  aid  it. 

Diiring  the  fifteen  years  since  the  r)Ook  Fund  was 
started,  up  to  1890,  there  have  been  distributed  by  Mrs. 
Spurgeon  to  needy  ministers  of  all  denomiiuitions,  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty -two  thousand  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine  volumes,  largely  Mr.  Spurgeon's  sermons,  *'  The 
Treasury  of  David,"  and  other  Avorks.  The  books  of 
other  authors  have  also  been  used. 

IJesides  books,  clotliing  and  other  needed  things  have 
been  sent  to  ministers  Avhose  salary  was  the  meagre  sum 
of  sixty-five  ])ounds  per  aninim,  or  less.  One  village 
l)astor  for  twenty  years  had  received  but  sixty  pounds 
yearly,  and  sometimes  only  forty-five  ])ounds.  Sonu;  had 
not  })urchased  a  new  book  in  several  years,  and  wrote 
back  most  thankful  letters. 

The  money  for  this  work  has  beim  furnislied  by  the 
very  poor  as  Avell   as  the  rich.     After  the  death  of   a 

1  An  account  of  lier  work  may  V>e  fonnd  in  my  l)ook,  "Social 
Studies  in  England," 


364  CnARLES  II ADDON  SPURGEON. 

woman  who  had  had  a  struggle  to  support  herself  by  her 
needle,  more  tlian  two  pounds,  all  in  three-penny  pieces, 
were  found  wra})ped  up  in  a  drawer  '•  dedicated  to  the 
Lord's  Avork  under  the  hand  of  JVIrs.  Spurgeon." 

Mr.  Spurgeon  had  suffered  from  rheumatism  for  many 
years,  and  had  been  obliged  sometimes  in  winter  to  go 
to  Mentone,  in  the  South  of  France.  In  the  middle  of 
May,  1891,  he  had  an  attack  of  la  grippe,  from  which, 
after  a  serious  illness,  he  seemed  to  rally ;  but  this  Avas 
only  temporary. 

On  all  sides  there  was  the  greatest  interest  and  sym- 
pathy. The  Prince  of  Wales,  Gladstone,  the  Arclibishop 
of  Canterbury,  Chief  Rabbi  Hermann  Adler,  and  scores 
of  the  higliest  in  the  land,  all  i-eligious  sects,  all  classes, 
sent  letters  or  telegrams,  to  hear  about  the  distinguished 
sufferer.  Gladstone  wrote  of  his  "  cordial  admiration, 
not  only  of  his  s^plendid  powers,  but  still  more  of  his 
devoted  and  unfailing  character." 

And  Spurgeon  added  to  the  letter  sent  back  by  his 
wife,  July  18,  1891,  these  lines,  "  Yours  is  a  word  of  love 
sucli  as  those  only  write  who  have  been  into  the  King's 
country,  and  have  seen  much  of  His  face  —  My  heart's 
love  to  you." 

Mr.  Spurgeon  was  always  an  admirer  of  Mr.  Gladstone, 
which  was  heartily  reciprocated.  In  the  year  1880  the 
former  took,  for  him,  an  unusually  active  part  in  politics. 
Having  to  preach  for  a  friend,  the  Rev.  John  Offord, 
Mr.  Spurgeon  said  to  him,  "  I  should  have  been  here  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  sooner,  only  T  stopped  to  vote." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Offord,  *'  I  tliought  you  were  a 
citizen  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  not  of  this  world." 

*'  So  I  am,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  I  have  an  old  man  in 
me  yet,  and  he  is  a  citizen  of  the  world." 


CHARLES  n ADDON   SPtlRGEON.  365 

"But  you  ought  to  mortify  him." 

"So  I  do;  for  lie's  an  old  Tory,  and  T  make  him  vote 
Liberal,"  replied  Spurgeon. 

In  the  autumn  of  1891,  the  month  of  October,  the 
preacher  started  for  Mentone,  his  friends  singing  the 
Doxology  as  he  left  Hearnc  Hill  Station,  Lfmdon. 
"  l>aron  Rothschild's  private  saloon-carriage  was  placed 
at  Mr.  Spurgeon's  service  to  travel  in  throughout  Fiance 
to  Mentone." 

Mr.  Spurgeon  grew  better  in  the  warm  climate  for  a 
time,  and  Avrote  back  letters  to  his  church.  He  soon 
failed,  however ;  and  on  the  last  day  of  January,  1892, 
on  Sunday,  at  five  minutes  past  eleven  at  night,  at  Hotel 
Beau  liivage,  he  passed  away.  At  half-past  three  he 
had  been  unable  to  recognize  his  Avife,  or  other  friends. 
He  grew  weaker,  and  the  end  was  painless. 

The  next  day  the  body  was  almost  hidden  from  sight 
by  the  flowers  sent  by  friends.  It  was  enibahued,  sealed 
up  in  a  leaden  case,  and  this  was  enclosed  in  a  coffin  of 
olive-wood.  On  it  were  the  last  Scri})ture  words  uttered 
by  Mr.  Spurgeon  to  his  secretary,  Mr.  J.  AV.  Harrald,  lu;- 
fore  his  death,  "I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have  fin- 
ished my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith." 

After  service,  Thursday,  Feb.  4,  at  t]u>  Scottish  Church 
at  Mentone,  the  body  was  taken  to  London,  where  an 
inunense  crowd  awaited  its  coming. 

Through  all  of  Tuesday,  F'eb.  9,  the  body  lay  in  state 
in  his  beloved  Tabernacle.  Friends  had  been  re(pu'sted 
not  to  send  flowers,  but  to  use  the  money  whii^li  they 
would  have  expended  thus,  for  the  Stockwell  Orplianage. 
Yet  the  body  was  covered  with  flowers  notwithstanding 
the  request.  Wednesday  was  spent  in  memorial  services, 
the  Tabernacle  being  crowded  until  after  midnight. 


366  CHARLES  IIAbBON  SPtlRGEON. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Thursday,  the  11th,  the  public  fu- 
neral service  was  held.  Deputations  from  sixty  religious 
associations  were  present.  Members  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts,  bishops  and 
laity,  all  came  to  honor  the  distinguished  preacher. 

The  boys  of  Stockwell  Orphanage  sang  the  last  hymn 
announced  by  Mr.  Spurgeon  before  he  became  ill,  — 

"  The  sands  of  time  are  sinkiiii;, 
The  dawn  of  heaven  breaks, 
The  sunmier  morn  I've  sighed  for, 
The  fair  sweet  morn  awakes." 

Dr.  A.  T.  Pierson  of  the  United  States  delivered  an 
earnest  address,  and  the  coffin  was  borne  down  the  aisle, 
while  the  great  congregation  rose  and  sang,  — 

"  There  is  no  night  in  Homeland." 

Tlirough  four  miles  of  streets,  crowds  lining  the  way, 
the  large  mourning  procession  passed, —  forty  coaches  and 
a  vast  number  of  private  carriages.  Flags  Avere  at  half- 
mast,  bells  were  tolled,  and  houses  were  draped  with  black. 

At  Stockwell  Orphanage,  on  a  raised  i)latform  covered 
with  the  emblems  of  mourning,  five  hundred  boys  and 
girls,  Avlio  had  loved  the  great  man,  once  as  poor  as  they, 
saw  the  solemn  procession  pass  to  the  grave.  Norwood 
Cemetery,  where  none  had  been  admitted  save  by  ticket, 
was  already  thronged.  After  a  brief  service,  the  Bishop 
of  llochester  pronounced  the  benediction,  and  the  sor- 
rowing crowd  went  back  to  tlieir  homes. 

More  than  two  years  afterwards,  March  21.  1S04,  the 
Rev.  Thomas  Spurgeon  was  called  to  succeed  his  father 
at  tlie  Metropolitan  Tabernacle. 


CHARLES   11  ADDON   SPUIiGEON.  3G7 

The  manifold  work  of  Charles  Haddon  Spurgeon  will 
go  on  forever,  through  his  books,  and  through  those 
whose  steps  he  has  turned  heavenward. 

Say  not  his  work  is  done; 
No  (Iced  of  love  or  ijoodncss  ov«^r  dies, 
But  in  the  sjreat  h<'reafter  multiplies: 

Say  it  is  just  begun. 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 


"I  NEVER  met  any  man,  oi-  any  occlesiastic,  half  so 
natural,  so  manly,  so  large-hearted,  so  intensely  Catholic 
in  the  only  real  sense,  so  loyally  true  in  his  friendships, 
so  absolutely  unselfish,  so  modest,  so  unartificial,  so  self- 
forgetful.  ...  A  l)lessing  and  a  gracious  presence  has 
vanished  out  of  many  lives.  With  a  very  sad  heart  I 
bid  him  farewell  .  .  .  the  noldest,  truest,  and  most  stain- 
less man  I  ever  knew."  Thus  Avrote  Canon  Farrar  of 
London  in  The  Jieiuew  of  liev'iews  for  March,  1893,  two 
months  after  the  death  of  Phillips  IJrooks. 

The  various  pulpits,  the  press,  the  millionnaires,  the 
poor,  and  the  lonely,  all  felt  and  said  nearly  the  same 
thing.  Canon  Farrar  wrote  elsewhere,  before  Dr. 
P>rooks's  death,  ''  I  cannot  recall  the  name  of  a  single 
divine  among  us,  of  any  rank,  who  either  ecpials  him 
as  a  preacher,  or  has  the  large  sympathies  and  the  rich 
endowments  which  distinguish  him  as  a  man." 

The  Nation  said,  "  The  death  of  rhillii)S  Brooks 
strikes  down  tlie  greatest  figure  left  to  the  American 
church." 

The  Rev.  Stopford  W.  lirooke,  of  tlie  First  Unitarian 
Church  of  Boston,  said,  "  He  was  so  vigorous,  so  noble,  so 
persuasive,  so  ever  welcome  a  guest  of  all  our  hearts,  that 
we  had  almost  forgotten  he,  too,  was  mortal.  .  .  .  We 
never   once   doubted   his   siiicerity,  or   his   large,  pure, 

368 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  869 

generous  huinauity.  There  was  a  power  in  his  presence, 
liis  smile,  the  grasp  of  liis  hand,  that  deep  and  magnifi- 
cent eye,  which  triumphed,  unconsciously  to  himself,  over 
all  our  haggling  differences  of  temperament  and  opinion, 
and  drew,  by  the  same  unconsciousness  of  itself,  our  best 
manhood  to  his  side.  I  think  this  long  consistent  un- 
consciousness of  himself  was  one  of  the  great  (pialities 
that  so  endeared  him  to  us  all.  ]fere  was  a  man  i>os- 
sessed  of  most  remarkable  gifts,  —  an  extraordinary  vi- 
tality, an  astonishing  '  volume  velocity '  and  beauty  of 
language,  a  rich  and  fertile  imagination  which  idealized 
everything  it  touched,  a  power  of  feeling  whitdx  rose  and 
swe[)t  into  his  audience  like  the  tides  in  the  Bay  of 
Fundy;  and  yet  he  never  seemed  aware  that  he  was 
anything  exceptional.  ...  I  believe  that  greatness  is 
more  comnnm,  goodness  is  far  more  common,  than  that 
unconsciousness  with  which  he  wore  his  greatness  and 
goodness." 

Stopford  Ih'ooke  s})eaks  of  another  remarkable  charac- 
teristic of  Phillips  ]>rooks,  —  "  His  radiance  and  his  joy. 
No  one  who  has  read  at  all  carefully  the  literature  of 
(mr  time  can  have  failed  to  remark  how  dominant  in  it 
is  the  note  of  sadness.  The  leaders  of  the  i)ast  genera- 
tion luu-e,  with  a  certain  sombre  melancholy,  the  burden 
of  the  chaos,  as  ('arlyle  ])uts  it,  whic^li  they  were  en- 
deavoring to  fashion  into  cosmos." 

Not  so  Thillips  Brooks.  "Goodness  and  hapjtiness, 
duty  and  joy,  were  constant  companions  in  his  life.  We 
looked  at  him,  listened  to  him,  talked  with  him,  and 
knew  he  had  saved  and  kept  through  many  long  years 
the  soul's  best  secret.  Through  all  that  he  said  and  did 
there  ran  this  river,  fresh,  clear,  and  abundant,  of  inm^r 
joy.     What  an  inspiration  that  joy  was  to  us  !  " 


370  PHILLIPS  n ROOKS. 

Dr.  Samuel  Eliot,  a  member  of  Phillips  Brooks's 
cluivcli,  and  his  lite-long  friend,  says  in  the  eulogy  of 
him,  delivered  at  the  Boston  Memorial  Meeting,  "  He  was 
blessed  with  a  hopefulness  of  which  most  of  us  have  but 
a  comparatively  scanty  share.  No  trait  of  his  was 
more  conspicuous.  No  single  source  of  his  power  over 
his  generation  was  more  abundant  or  more  effective. 
Whatever  the  foreground-  might  liarbor  in  shadows,  he 
looked  beyond  into  tlie  distance  and  saw  it  radiant.  .   .  . 

"  How  he  helped  others  to  be  hoj)efid  also,  how  many 
shackles  he  thus  loosed  from  the  heavy-laden,  how  he 
thus  encouraged  his  people  to  work  their  way  forward  to 
a  future  filled  with  promise,  is  a  familiar  story.  His 
hopefulness  gave  him  his  strong  hold  uj)on  young  men. 
To  them,  always  looking  before  and  not  beliind,  he 
stood  beckoning,  and  the  lire  cauglit  from  him  spread 
through  them  and  out  from  them.  Neither  they,  nor 
any  others,  may  have  known  all  the  110^)6  that  was  in 
him  ;  indeed,  he  may  not  have  known  it  all  himself.  It 
often  seemed  as  if  he  were  hoping  for  brighter  days 
and  holier  lives  than  are  consistent  with  human  imper- 
fections." 

Dr.  Eliot,  after  speaking  of  riiillips  Brooks's  affection, 
playfulness  of  conversation  with  his  friends,  his  humor, 
whicli  rendered  liis  companionship  charming,  his  delight 
in  children,  his  unconsciousness  of  all  las  distinctions 
and  successes,  the  unchangeable  simplicity  of  his  habits, 
his  manners,  his  opinions,  says,  "  Tliese  are  ])leasant 
recollections  to  all  who  loved  him.  .  .  .  They  linger 
like  the  soft  glow  of  a  sumnun*  twiliglit,  now  that  liis 
day  on  earth  is  over.  .  .  . 

**  This  great  man  was  never  greater  than  he  was  in 
the  sight  of   those  who  knew  him  best.     'I  shall  not 


PnilLiPs  nnooKs.  371 

change,'  he  said  to  a  brother  clergynmn  who  seems  to 
liave  been  doubtful  whether  he  would  be  tlie  same 
after  being  a  bishop,  — '  I  shall  not  change,  and  you 
will  always  find  me  just  as  you  liave  found  me 
heretofore.'  " 

The  Rev.  Arthur  Brooks,  D.D.,  in  a  memorial  sermon 
preached  in  tlic  Church  of  tlie  Incarnation,  New  York 
City,  says  tluit  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  tin;  conse- 
cration of  liis  brother  as  a  bishop,  fearing  tliat  some  of 
his  friends  miglit  not  come  to  see  him  as  often  as  liere- 
tofore,  he  said  earnestly,  "  JJon't  desert  me." 

Pliillips  Brooks  was  born  Dec.  13,  l.So5,  on  High 
Street,  r>oston,  the  second  in  a  family  of  six  sons.  His 
mother,  Mary  Ann  I'hillips,  the  granddaughter  of  Judge 
Phillips,  the  founder  of  Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  was 
a  woman  of  fine  intellect  and  unusiuilly  earnest  piety. 
His  father,  William  Gray  P)i:ooks,  a  hardware  mercliant, 
whose  ancestors,  like  the  Phillipses,  held  high  social 
position,  and  power  in  the  State  as  well,  was  a  man  of 
refinement  and  scholarly  tastes. 

The  son  Phillips,  says  the  Kev.  Julius  H.  Ward  in  the 
New  Eiujhind  Maf/azhie  for  January,  1892,  '*  seems  to 
have  inherited  from  his  mother  the  deep  and  earnest 
jnety  and  intellectual  strength  wliicli  have  always  been 
his  cliaracteristics,  and  from  his  father  tlie  robust  pliys- 
ical  constitution,  the  strong  and  resolute  spirit.,  which  he 
has  shown  in  using  them." 

''Parents  whose  praise,"  says  Dr.  Artliur  Ilrooks.  '"be- 
cause of  tliis  great  son,  is  in  the  churches  tcnlay,  earned 
it  by  self-denial  and  tlie  subordination  of  all  interests 
and  ambitions  to  the  training  and  education  of  a  family 
of  boys.  .  .  .  That  love  to  ('hrist  wliicli  glowed  in  liis 
words  and  flashed  in  his  eye,  was  caught  from  a  mother's 


372  PHILLIPS  nnooKs. 

lips,  and  Avas  read  with  boyish  eyes  as  the  central  power 
of  a  mother's  soul  and  life." 

Mother-love  was  always  a  strong  force  in  the  heart  of 
I'liillips  l^rooks.  It  is  related  that  when  some  one  asked 
him  if  he  was  not  afraid  when  he  first  preached  before 
Queen  Victoria,  he  replied,  "  Oh  no ;  I  have  preached 
before  my  mother." 

He  said  in  one  of  his  sermons,  "The  purest  mingling 
of  all  elements  into  one  character  and  nature  which  we 
ever  see,  is  in  the  Christian  mother,  in  whom  the  knowl- 
edge of  all  tliat  she  knows,  and  the  love  which  she  feels 
for  her  child,  make  not  two  natures,  as  tliey  often  do  in 
men,  in  fathers,  but  perfectly  and  absolutely  one." 

He  often  spoke  of  "  that  self-sacrifice  which  is  tlie 
very  essence  of  her  motherhood." 

At  eight  years  of  age,  I'hillips  and  his  brother  William 
Gray,  a  year  and  a  lialf  older,  were  at  the  Adams  School 
in  Mason  Street,  and  entered  the  Latin  School,  then  on 
Bedford  Street,  in  1840,  when  Phillips  was  eleven  years 
old.  Here  he  was  a  quiet,  good  scholar,  excelling  in  the 
languages,  and  all  unconscious  of  his  great  future. 
His  teacher,  Francis  Gardner,  was  a  sad,  earnest  man, 
whom  Pliillips  Brooks  described  nearly  forty  years  later, 
when  he  spoke,  April  23,  1885,  at  the  two  hundred  and 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  Latin  School,  the  oldest  school 
in  America. 

"  Tall,  gaunt,  muscular  .  .  .  impressing  every  boy  with 
the  strong  sense  of  vigor,  now  lovely  and  now  hateful, 
but  never  for  a  moment  tame  or  dull  or  false;  indignant, 
passionate,  an  athlete  both  in  body  and  mind.  .  .  .  He 
was  not  always  easy  for  the  boys  to  get  along  Avith. 
Probably  it  was  not  always  easy  for  him  to  get  along 
with  himself.     But  it  has  left  a  strength  of  truth  and 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  373 

honor  and  devoted  manliness  which  will  always  be  a 
treasure  in  the  school  he  loved." 

In  this  school  young  Brooks  learned  his  fondness  for 
and  advocacy  of  the  public  school  system.  He  said  in 
his  anniversary  address,  "The  German  statesman,  if  you 
talk  with  him,  will  tell  you  that,  with  every  evil  of  his 
great  military  system,  which  makes  every  citizen  a 
soldier  for  some  portion  of  his  life,  it  yet  has  one 
redeeming  good.  It  brings  each  young  man  of  the  land 
once  in  his  life  directly  into  the  country's  service ;  lets 
him  directly  feel  its  touch  of  dignity  and  i)ower ;  nuikes 
him  })roud  of  it  as  his  personal  commander,  and  so 
insures  a  more  definite  and  vivid  loyalty  through  all  his 
life. 

"  More  graciously,  more  healthily,  more  Christiaidy, 
the  American  public  school  does  what  the  barracks  and 
the  drill-room  try  to  do.  Would  that  its  blessing  might 
be  made  absolutely  universal !  Would  tliat  it  might  be 
so  arranged  that  once  in  tlie  life  of  every  I>oston  boy,  if 
only  for  three  months,  he  might  be  a  pu})il  of  a  i)ublic 
school ;  might  see  his  city  sitting  in  the  teacher's  cliair; 
might  find  liimself,  along  with  boys  of  all  degrees  and 
classes,  simply  recognized  by  his  community  as  one  of 
her  children  !  It  would  put  an  element  into  his  charac- 
ter and  life  which  he  would  never  lose.  It  would  insure 
the  unity  and  public  spirit  of  our  citizens." 

These  words  of  riiilli[)S  Brooks,  ^fr.  Edwin  I).  ^Ie:i<l 
thinks,  sliould  "  be  printed  in  letters  of  gold,  and  liung 
up  in  every  home  where  parents  arc  tliinking  of  sending 
their  children  into  private  scliools,  therel)y  condemning 
tliem  to  a  narrower  and  less  sturdy  education  tlian  that 
given  by  the  State,  while  also  thus  withdrawing  tlieir 
own  personal   interest  from  the  public  schools,  which 


374  PHILLIPS  nitooKS. 

need  the  personal  interest  and  love  of  every  earnest 
citizen  to-day  as  they  have  never  needed  them  before." 

From  the  Boston  Latin  School  young  Brooks  went  to 
Harvard  College  when  he  was  about  fifteen  and  a  half 
years  old.  '•  The  college  attracted  him  with  its  prom- 
ises," writes  the  Eev.  Dr.  Alexander  McKenzie,  in  the 
May,  1893,  New  England  Ifuf/azine.  "  Even  the  Trien- 
nial Catalogue  was  stimulating  as  he  read  tliere  of 
twenty-live  men  named  Phillips  and  twenty  named 
Brooks,  who  had  graduated  from  this  university.  The 
place  for  his  own  name  which  should  join  the  two  lines 
was  inviting." 

And  yet  Phillips  Brooks  in  no  way  distinguished  him- 
self in  college,  save,  perhaps,  in  composition.  His  pro- 
fessors were  such  men  as  Agassiz,  Longfellow,  Asa  Gray, 
Lowell,  and  others.  During  his  junior  year  he  roomed  in 
Massachusetts  Hall,  and  his  senior  year  in  Stoughton. 

One  of  Brooks's  class  writes,  "  He  was  a  general  favor- 
ite, always  hearty  and  kindly,  with  an  abounding  sense 
of  humor,  which  he  carried  with  him  through  life.  .  .  . 
No  one  could  have  surmised  what  j^rofession  he  would 
choose,  and  almost  any  calling  would  have  seemed  aj)- 
propriate." 

Mr.  Robert  Treat  Paine,  his  classmate,  says,  "At  col- 
lege he  cared  little  for  s[)ort,  l)ut  i)rt'ferred  to  read  omniv- 
erously  almost  everything  and  anything  that  came  in  his 
way."     Tennyson  was  an  especial  favorite. 

After  graduation  Brooks  returned  to  the  Boston  Latin 
School,  and  became  a  tutor.  Here  he  failed.  He  could 
not  or  would  not  be  a  strict  disciplinarian,  and  he  left 
the  position. 

Francis  Gardner,  his  former  teacher,  had  said  that  he 
"  never  knew  a  man  who  had  failed  as  a  schoolmaster  to 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  375 

succeed  in  any  other  occupation."  In  one  case  at  least 
he  was  mistaken.  The  young  man  might  and  did  fail  as 
a  schoolteacher ;  he  was  a  great  success  as  a  preacher 
and  a  man. 

He  went  back  to  his  college  president,  James  Walker, 
to  advise  about  his  future  work  in  life,  and  decided  to 
enter  the  ministry. 

At  the  suggestion  of  his  pastor.  Dr.  Alexander  H. 
Vinton,  of  St.  Paul's  Church  on  Tremont  Street,  he  went 
to  a  theological  seminary  at  Alexandria,  Va.,  in  185G. 
Here  his  piety  seemed  to  deepen,  as  he  gave  liimself 
to  study  and  to  ndssion  work. 

He  preached  his  first  sermon  in  a  little  hamlet  called 
Sharon,  two  or  three  miles  from  the  seminary,  urged  to 
go  thither  by  a  classmate.  The  people  were  mostly  poor 
whites  and  negroes,  wlio,  being  plain  themselves,  enjoyed 
the  plain  preaching.  The  schoolhouse  was  soon  crowded, 
and  more  came  than  could  be  accommodated. 

His  classmate  told,  at  his  home  in  riiiladelphia,  of 
this  good  work.  The  Churcli  of  the  Advent  in  that  city 
needed  a  rector.  A  committee  came  to  hear  IJrooks, 
of  course  without  his  knowledge,  were  delighted,  and 
called  liim  to  their  poor  i»arisli. 

Fearful  that  he  would  not  give  siiiisfaction,  young 
l^rooks,  now  twenty-four  years  of  age,  consented  to 
preacli  for  three  months,  and  at  tlie  end  of  that  tinu; 
accepted  the  call  for  a  year,  at  a  salary  of  one  tliousand 
dollars. 

"The  dissatisfaction  with  his  work/'  says  Dr.  Artliur 
lU'ooks,  "and  the  eagerness  to  i)ress  on  to  soiuething 
better  and  more  complete,  while  all  the  time  men  were 
praising  what  he  had  done,  was  always  a  recognized 
feature  of  his  power." 


376  PuiLLiPs  niioOKS. 

Fortunately  for  young  Brooks,  Dr.  Vinton  had  moved 
to  Philadelphia,  and  had  become  rector  of  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Trinity,  in  a  wealthy  part  of  the  city. 

Not  forgetting  his  former  i)arishioner,  he  invited  the 
young  preacher  to  occui)y  his  pul])it  Sunday  afternoons. 
Both  here  and  at  the  Advent,  Phillips  Brooks  soon  won 
a  place  in  the  hearts  and  lives  of  his  hearers. 

Dr.  Vinton  Avas  called  to  St.  Mark's  Church,  in  New 
York,  and  Phillips  Brooks  was  asked  to  take  his  place 
at  the  Holy  Trinity.  He  did  not  accept  till  invited  the 
third  time,  and  finally  became  rector  Jan.  1,  18(52,  when 
he  was  twenty-seven. 

During  Philliiw  Brooks's  ten  years  in  J'hiladelphia, 
he  took  a  fearless  stand  for  the  colored  jwople,  and  in 
all  that  related  to  the  Civil  AVar. 

When  the  three  months'  men  were  called  out  to  defend 
Philadelphia  from  a  feared  attack  of  the  Confederates, 
young  Brooks,  with  a  shovel  on  his  shoulder,  was  in  the 
van  to  help  throw  up  earthworks. 

In  his  Thanksgiving  sermon,  Nov.  26, 1863,  he  thanked 
God  "  that  the  institution  of  African  slavery  in  our  be- 
loved land  is  one  big  year  nearer  to  its  inevitable  death 
than  it  was  last  Thanksgiving  Day." 

When  Abraham  Lincoln  lay  dead  at  Independence 
Hall,  in  the  journey  from  Washington  to  Springfield, 
111.,  Phillips  Brooks  preached  a  noble  sermon,  April  23, 
1865.  MaTiy  have  recalled  these  words,  which  might  be 
written  of  himself,  now  that  he  has  gone  from  us. 

"In  him,"  said  Phillips  Brooks,  "was  vindicated  the 
greatness  of  real  goodness  and  the  goodness  of  real 
greatness.  .  .  .  How  many  ears  will  never  lose  the 
thrill  of  some  kind  word  he  spoke  —  he  who  could  speak 
so  kindly  to  promise  a  kindness  that  always  matched 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  377 

his  word.  How  often  he  surprised  the  land  with  a  clem- 
ency which  made  even  those  who  questioned  his  policy 
love  him  the  more  for  what  they  called  his  weakness ; 
seeing  the  man  in  whom  God  had  most  embodied  the 
discipline  of  freedom  not  only  could  not  be  a  slave,  but 
could  not  be  a  tyrant.  .  .  . 

"  The  gentlest,  kindest,  most  indulgent  man  that  ever 
ruled  a  state  !  .  .  .  The  shepherd  of  the  people !  .  .  . 
What  ruler  ever  Avore  it  like  this  dead  President  of 
ours  ?  He  fed  us  faithfully  and  truly.  He  fed  us  with 
counsel  when  we  were  in  doubt,  with  inspiration  when 
we  sometimes  faltered,  with  caution  when  we  would  be 
rash,  Avith  calm,  clear,  trustful  clioerfulness  through 
many  an  hour  when  our  hearts  were  dark.  He  spread 
before  the  whole  land  feasts  of  great  duty  and  devotion 
and  patriotism,  on  which  the  land  grew  strong.  He  fed 
us  with  solemn,  solid  truths.  .  .  . 

"  He  showed  us  how  to  love  trutli,  and  yet  be  charita- 
ble—  how  to  hate  wrong  and  all  oppression,  and  yet  not 
treasure  one  personal  injury  or  insult.  He  fed  all  his 
people,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  from  the  most 
privileged  to  the  most  enslaved.  Best  of  all,  he  fed  us 
witli  a  reverent  and  genuine  religion." 

When  Harvard  celebrated  the  close  of  the  war,  and 
Lowell  gave  his  immortal  ''Commemoration  Ode,"  Phillips 
l^rooks  offered  the  prayer,  as  only  one  witli  his  great 
lieart  and  eloquent  lips  could  pray.  Nobody  ever  forgot 
that  prayer.  Harvard  from  that  day  forward  knew  and 
honored  her  son. 

A  few  years  later.  May  '30,  1873,  I'hillii)S  llrooks 
spoke  at  the  dedication  of  Memorial  Hall  in  Andover. 
He  said,  "They  saw  that  their  country  was  like  a  pre- 
cious vase  of  rarest  porcelain,  priceless   while  it   was 


378  PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 

whole,  valueless  if  it  was  broken  into  fragments.  What 
they  died  to  keep  Avhole  may  we  in  our  several  places 
live  to  keep  holy  !  " 

In  18GD  Phillips  Brooks  was  called  to  Trinity  Church, 
Boston.  He  loved  his  native  city,  "the  home  of  new 
ideas,"  as  he  called  it,  and  accepted.  At  that  time  the 
church  edifice  of  Quiucy  granite  was  on  Summer  Street. 
It  was  burned  in  the  great  fire  of  1872,  whereupon  the 
wealthy  congregation,  idolizing  their  i)astor,  built  on  the 
Back  Bay,  at  Copley  Square,  the  present  Trinity  Church 
edifice,  costing  about  one  million  dollars,  one  of  the 
handsomest  and  most  complete  church  buildings  on  this 
continent.  It  was  designed  by  the  famous  architect, 
Mr.  II.  II.  Ivichardson.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a  Latin 
Cross. 

"  The  style  of  the  church,"  says  Mr.  liichardson, 
"may  be  characterized  as  a  free  rendering  of  the  French 
Romanesque,  inclining  particularly  to  the  school  that 
flourished  in  the  eleventh  century  in  Central  France,  — 
the  ancient  Aquitaine." 

Four  thousand  five  hundred  piles  were  driven  to  sup- 
port the  building,  the  tower  of  which,  resting  on  four 
piers,  Aveighs  nearly  nineteen  million  pounds.  IVIr.  John 
La  Farge  decorated  the  building  with  great  skill  and 
beauty.  Dr.  Vinton,  the  venerable  pastor  of  I'hillips 
I^rooks's  boyhood,  preached  the  consecration  sermon  in 
the  new  church,  Feb.  1),  1.S77. 

Philli})s  Brooks  did  not  wish  that  this  grand  church 
should  be  for  the  people  of  Trinity  onl}'.  The  galleries 
were  made  free,  and  the  rented  pews  coidd  be  occupied  by 
strangers  after  a  stated  hour.  He  said,  "  Such  a  church 
as  this  has  no  right  to  exist,  or  to  think  tliat  it  exists,  for 
any  limited  company  who  own  its  pews.    It  would  not  be 


pniLLirs  BROOKS.  379 

a  Christian  parish  if  it  harbored  such  a  thought.  No, 
let  the  world  come  in.  Let  all  men  hear,  if  they  will, 
the  truths  we  love.  Let  no  soul  go  unsaved  through 
any  seltishness  of  ours." 

This  year  Mr.  Brooks  was  made  a  Doctor  of  Divinity 
by  Harvard  University.  He  had  already  been  one  of 
her  overseers  for  several  years.  In  1881  the  beloved 
Dr.  Andrew  P.  I'eabody  resigned  his  office  as  preacher 
at  Harvard,  and  the  President  and  Fellows  naturally 
turned  to  Phillips  Krooks  as  tlie  one  of  all  others  who 
could  win  and  hold  the  students  to  a  higher  sjaritual 
life.  He  was  chosen  preaclier  to  the  university,  and 
Plunimer  I'rofessor  of  Christian  Morals. 

Dr.  Brooks  loved  his  Alma  Mater,  and  hated  to  refuse, 
but  Trinity  Church  and  lioston  could  not  spare  him. 
When  he  gave  his  answer,  President  Eliot  says,  "He 
was  very  pale  and  grave,  and  lie  si)oke  like  a  man  who 
had  seen  a  beatific  vision  which  he  could  not  pursue." 

More  and  more,  however,  Thillips  Brooks  became  a 
part  of  the  higlier  life  of  Harvard.  The  religious  work 
at  the  college  is  divided  among  six  i)reachers.  In  each 
half-year,  for  two  or  three  weeks,  a  minister  conducts 
morning  })rayers,  preaches  Sunday  evenings,  and  each 
forenoon  is  at  Wadsworth  House,  to  talk  with  any 
students  wlio  niay  choose  to  come. 

These  were  ])recious  seasons  to  Blii]li])s  Brooks;  for  he 
loved  young  men,  and  they  l(»ved  liim.  The  Hev.  .lulius 
Ward  tells  of  a  letter  written  by  Dr.  I'.rooks  to  the 
fatlier  of  a  freshman,  in  wliieh  tlie  warm  heart  of  the 
preacher  exclaims,  "  Wliat  dear,  beautiful  creatures  tliese 
boys  are !  " 

For  twenty-two  years  Pliil]ii)S  Brooks  did  his  grand 
work  in  Trinity  Church,  and,  indeed,  in  the  whole  city 


380  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

and  the  whole  land.  He  said,  "No  man  has  come  to 
true  greatness  who  has  not  felt  in  some  degree  that  liis 
life  belongs  to  his  race,  and  that  what  God  gives  him 
He  gives  him  for  mankind." 

AVhen  the  llev.  Dr.  George  A.  Gordon  of  Boston  re- 
marked to  Dr.  Brooks,  after  hearing  his  twentieth  anni- 
versary sermon,  that  he  had  also  heard  him  preach  his 
ninth,  he  replied,  "  Twenty  years  is  a  long  time  in  a  man's 
life,  and  I  cannot  expect  more  than  another  twenty  ;  " 
and  then  with  a  serious  but  eager  look,  added,  "And  then 
I  hope  something  better  will  come." 

He  preached  to  overflowing  congregations  at  Trinity, 
at  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Union,  the  Moody  Taber- 
nacle, Ajjpleton  Chapel  at  Harvard,  and  elsewhere.  He 
did  not  seem  to  realize  that  men  crowded  the  house  to 
hear  him.  To  a  brother  minister  in  a  Boston  suburb, 
where  he  frequently  preached,  and  where  every  inch  of 
standing-room  was  utilized  when  he  came,  he  remarked, 
"  Grey,  what  a  splendid  congregation  you  have  !  " 

He  was  extremely  modest.  When  invited  to  furnish 
some  data  for  his  college  class  record,  he  wrote,  "  I 
have  had  no  wife,  no  children,  no  particular  honors, 
no  serious  misfortune,  and  no  adventures  worth  speaking 
of.  It  is  shameful  at  such  times  as  these  not  to  have  a 
history,  but  I  have  not  got  one,  and  must  come 
without." 

Phillips  Brooks  was  as  great  in  pastoral  work  as  in 
preacliing.  He  said  in  his  "Lectures  on  Preacliing," 
delivered  at  tlie  Yale  Divinity  School,  in  January  and 
February,  1877,  "  The  preacher  needs  to  be  pastor,  that 
he  may  preach  to  real  men.  The  pastor  must  be 
preacher,  that  he  may  keep  the  dignity  of  his  work 
alive.     The  preacher  who  is  not  a  pastor  grows  remote. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  381 

The  pastor  who  is  not  a  preacher  grows  petty.  ...  Be 
both  ;  for  you  cannot  really  be  one  unless  you  also  are 
the  other." 

He  visited  his  people,  both  jxwr  and  rich.  Two  young 
men  liad  attended  Trinity  Church  for  a  time,  and  then 
ceased  going.  They  roomed  at  the  top  of  a  high  build- 
ing in  a  plain  quarter  of  the  city.  One  day,  answering 
a  rap  at  their  door,  they  beheld  the  majestic  figure  of 
IMiillips  Ih-ooks.  ''  Well,  boys,"  he  said,  grasping  them 
coi-dially  by  the  hand,  "  you  did  not  expect  to  see  me 
here,  did  you  ?  " 

Indeed,  they  did  not,  for  they  supposed  that  the  rector 
did  not  know  them  even  by  sight.  They  went  regularly 
to  Trinity  after  that  friendly  visit. 

A  physician  tells  this  story,  which  has  a])peared  in  the 
press.  He  said  to  a  jxjor  woman  whom  he  had  visited, 
"  You  don't  need  any  more  medicine.  AVhat  you  need 
now  is  nourishment  and  fresh  air.    You  need  to  get  out." 

"  But  I  have  nobody  to  leave  with  the  children,"  was 
the  reply. 

'•  Well,  you  must  manage  to  get  out  somehow,"  was  the 
response. 

Tlie  doctor  dro]iped  in  a  day  or  two  later  to  see  how 
the  poor  woman  had  "  managed."  81ie  had  told  lier 
tr()ul)les  to  the  man  wlio  bore  many  bnrdens  clieerfnlly, 
IMiillips  Brooks  ;  and  he  was  there  caring  for  the  children 
while  the  poor  mother  took  the  air. 

Dr.  Brooks  loved  mission  work.  Like  Charles  Kings- 
ley,  he  was  always  very  close  in  heart  with  the  poor  and 
the  laborers.  He  said,  "  It  is  not  wealth  simply  in  itself, 
—  it  is  the  pride  of  wealth,  the  indifference  of  wealth, 
the  cruelty  of  wealtli,  t\w  vulgarity  of  wealth,  in  one 
great  word,  the  seltishness  of  wealth,  which  really  makes 


382  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

the  poor  man's  heart  ache  and  the  poor  man's  blood  boil, 
and  constitutes  the  danger  of  a  community  where  poor 
men  and  rich  men  live  side  by  side."  He  was  especially 
interested  in  St.  Andrew's  Church  on  Chambers  Street, 
wliich  was  under  the  care  of  Trinity.  Here  one  of  the 
first,  if  not  the  first,  girls'  clubs  in  the  country  was  or- 
ganized, to  which  Dr.  Brooks  delighted  to  si)eak  of  his 
travels  abroad.  The  Vincent  Hosjiital,  the  (luild  Hall 
of  St.  Andrew's,  hung  with  i)ictures,  gifts  from  him,  tlie 
Kindergarten  for  the  Blind,  —  all  were  dear  to  his  heart. 

Phillips  Brooks  was  a  generous  man,  with  both  money 
and  time.  He  helped  many  a  boy  through  college.  On 
one  occasion  he  received  a  check  for  one  hundred  dollars 
from  a  parish  where  he  had  preached,  and  immediately 
sent  it  to  a  poor  clergyman.  To  a  chapel  in  a  suburban 
town  he  gave  five  liundred  dollars  towards  paying  its 
debt. 

He  did  not  like  to  have  liis  photograph  taken  and  sold  ; 
but  when  informed  by  those  who  were  holding  a  fair  for 
St.  Andrew's  Mission  that  they  would  probably  make 
fifty  dollars  through  such  sale,  he  immediately  sent  a 
clieck  for  that  amount, 

He  Avas  finally  prevailed  upon  to  sit  for  his  picture  in 
1887.  In  the  following  eight  months  more  than  tliroe 
thousand  photographs  were  sold.  Four  years  later  an 
arrangement  was  made  whereby  a  royalty  was  paid  on 
each  picture,  and  tlie  proceeds  used  in  mission  work. 

A  lady  desired  some  instruments  for  a  medical  mis- 
sionary a])out  to  start  for  Japan.  She  applied  to  Tliillips 
Brooks,  with  the  thought  that  some  of  his  wealthy  pa- 
rishioners might  provide  them.  "  A  good  set  will  cost 
one  hundred  dollars,"  slie  said  ;  "but  an  inferior  one  can 
be  bought  for  fifty  dollars." 


PHILLIP R  BROOKS.  383 

"  Would  you  send  your  son  to  the  war  with  an  old- 
fashioned  musket,"  lie  said, ''instead  of  a  ritie  ?  Tin; 
man  who  goes  to  light  Satan  in  his  stronghohls  must 
have  the  best  appliances  that  can  be  obtained."  And 
Dr.  llrooks  paid  tlie  money  from  his  own  pock(;t. 

A  printer,  the  husband  of  a  woman  attending  Dr. 
lU'ooks's  church,  b(»came  ill,  and  tlie  men  in  the  office 
raised  money  to  send  their  feUow-workman  to  (Jalif(u-nia. 
Tlie  preacher  heard  of  it,  and  called  at  tlu;  building.  The 
cashier  spoke  through  the  tube  to  the  foreman  in  the 
composing-room,  saying  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see 
him.  ''Send  him  up,"  was  the  reply.  And-up  four  flights 
walked  IMiillips  I»rooks,  and  (piietly  slijiped  twenty  dol- 
lars into  the  foreman's  hands,  tliough  refusing  to  allow 
his  name  to  be  put  on  the  subscription  paper. 

lie  gave  his  time  generously.  Wlicii  his  itrivate  secre- 
tary, the  Rev.  William  Henry  lirooks,  DD.,  said  to  him 
that  in  using  so  much  time  for  others  he  had  none  hd't 
for  himself,  he  replied,  •' I  have  plenty  of  time."  Ueing 
asked  "Where  ?"  he  answered,  "  In  tlu^  laili-oad  cars." 

Soon  alter  IMiillijis  I>rooks  became  bislio])  he  was 
urged  to  have  office  hours,  but  refused  He  sai<l,  writes 
his  secretary,  in  a  sketch  of  the  great  leader,  "  A  <dergy- 
man  may  come  from  a  distance  to  see  m(\  and  be  com- 
])elled  to  return  very  soon.  Not  knowing  my  office  hours 
(should  there  be  such),  he  might  fail  of  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  errand,  and  so  ha\e  his  journey  to  no  |)ur- 
]ios(\  Or  a  layman,  leaving  his  l)usiiiess  to  consiilt  with 
me,  not  knowing  of  the  observance  of  office  hours,  might 
find  his  time  wasted,  and  be  disajipointed  of  tlie  desired 
interview.  Ko,  T  am  not  willing  to  have  office  hours.  If 
peo])le  wish  to  see  me  I  ought  to  and  will  see  Ihem." 

When  some  one  expressed  fear  that  these  numberless 


384  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

calls  would  wear  him  out,  he  said,  "  God  save  the  day 
when  they  won't  come  to  me." 

When  I  had  occasion  myself  two  or  three  times  to  con- 
sult him,  he  never  seemed  in  a  hurry,  never  cold  or  indif- 
ferent, never  ostentatious,  —  only  small  souls  are  that,  — 
and  never  exclusive.  He  liad  so  mastered  himself  as  not 
to  be  annoyed;  and  such  mastery  over  self  gives  mastery 
over  others. 

He  answered  letters  by  the  thousands ;  indeed,  none 
ever  went  unanswered.  He  was  like  Longfellow  in  this 
resj^ect,  —  a  true  gentleman. 

He  received  letters  from  all  countries,  and  upon  all  sub- 
jects. A  lady  wrote  from  the  South,  wishing  a  position 
in  the  house  of  one  of  the  diocesan  institutions,  with  her 
.two  children,  and  if  that  were  not  possible,  asked  that 
he  would  recommend  a  boarding-})lace.  l*hillips  Brooks 
was  abroad,  but  sent  the  letter  to  his  secretary,  asking 
that  he  send  her  the  desired  information.  "  Be  sure," 
wrote  Dr.  Brooks,  "  and  tell  her  that  the  answer  was  not 
delayed  any  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary.  Ex- 
plain to  her  that  I  am  in  Europe." 

A  widow  in  Minnesota,  whose  husband,  a  Massachu- 
setts man,  had  been  killed  in  the  war,  could  not  prove 
that  he  was  her  husband,  as  she  had  lost  her  marriage 
certificate,  and  therefore  could  not  obtain  a  pension. 
She  knew  the  name  of  the  minister  who  married  lier,  but 
he  was  dead.  Phillips  Brooks  took  time  to  find  evidence 
of  her  marriage,  and  she  received  her  pension. 

A  letter  came  from  New  York  City,  asking  that  a  list 
of  all  the  papers  and  periodicals  published  by  the  several 
parishes  in  Dr.  Brooks's  diocese  be  sent.  It  was  a  work  of 
many  hours,  but  it  was  done. 

The     Girls'    Friendly   Magazine    tells   this    incident. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  385 

Phillips  Brooks  said  to  a  friend  in  his  study,  "Who  is 
this  man  wIkj  writes  this  letter  ?  You  ought  to  be  able 
to  tell  me,  fur  he  comes  from  your  town.  lie  wants  to 
know  if  1  think  it  is  riglit  to  i)lay  chess." 

"  That  man,"  said  the  friend,  "  is  a  poor  old  crank. 
There  is  nothing  for  you  to  do  but  to  throw  his  letter  in 
the  waste-basket." 

"  That  I  will  not  do,"  was  the  answer  of  riiillips 
Brooks.  ''  He  has  written  me  a  courteous  letter,  aiul  I 
am  going  to  return  him  a  courteous  answer,  like  a  gentle- 
man." 

Phillips  Brooks  was  extremely  fond  of  children,  as 
one  may  see  from  his  letters  to  his  nieces,  published  in 
the  August,  I.SIK^,  Cevtury  Mdi/axhie.  or  from  the  beauti- 
ful picture  in  "  The  Child  and  the  Bishop,"  where,  in 
1890,  Dr.  Brooks  holds,  as  he  says, '"'Beautiful  Blessing' 
in  my  happy  arms." 

In  1882-83  he  spent  over  a  year  in  Kiiroi)e,  sailing  in 
the  Servia  about  tlie  middle  of  June,  1882,  with  his 
friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  McVickar  of  Philadelphia,  with 
other  friends.  Dr.  lirooks  visited  England,  France, 
Italy,  India,  and  Spain. 

From  Venice  lie  writes  to  his  niec(^  Gertie,  the  daughter 
of  William  (iray  I'rooks,  in  a  Boston  bank,  "  Do  go 
into  my  house,  when  you  get  there,  and  see  if  the  doll 
and  her  baby  are  well  and  ha])py,  but  do  not  carry  them 
off ;  and  make  the  music-box  play  a  tune,  and  renuMuber 
your  affectionate  uncle,  Phillii's." 

The  people  of  Trinity  Church  had  built  for  their  pastor 
a  beautiful  home  on  Clai-endon  Street.  In  one  of  the 
closets  were  ke])t  dolls  for  his  nieces.  This  liome  was 
the  scene  of  many  nuirry-makings  for  the  children  of  his 
brothers,  and  for  other  cliildren. 


886  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

From  Jeypoor  he  writes  to  Gertie  about  the  monkeys 
of  India,  and  the  nose-jewels  of  the  women,  and  tells  lier 
he  has  got  a  nose-jewel  for  her.  He  rides  on  a  great 
elephant,  "  almost  as  big  as  Jumbo." 

To  Josephine,  the  little  daugliter  of  the  Rev.  Joliu 
Cotton  Brooks,  his  brotlier,  in  S])ringliol(l,  IMiiss.,  he  sends 
an  amusing  poem  of  his  own  composition.  P"'rom  P]ngland 
he  writes  tliat  he  wished  the  strawberries  grew  on  trees, 
as  it  was  difficult  for  liim  to  pick  them,  as  one  miglit 
imagine  from  his  great  size,  —  six  feet  four  inches  tall, 
and  large  frame  in  proportion. 

At  Uadastein  he  takes  a  bath  for  Gertie,  who  lias 
rheumatism,  back  in  America ;  and  from  Chamouni,  lie 
writes  her  that  she  must  get  well  and  strong,  ''  to  jday 
with  me." 

He  Avrites  to  his  brother  William  interesting  accounts 
of  India.  Bombay,  with  its  great  hospital  for  sick  and 
wounded  animals,  where  "  they  cure  them  -if  they  can, 
or  keep  them  till  they  die,"  is  very  curious.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  we,  with  our  boasted  civilization,  will  some 
time  be  as  kind  to  animals  as  they  are  in  India. 

He  preaches  at  Delhi.  He  is  extremely  interested  in 
Benares,  with  its  five  tliousand  Hindoo  temples,  the 
"  very  Back  Bay  of  Asia."  He  sees  thousands  of 
pilgrims  bathing  in  the  sacred  Cianges  to  wasli  tlieir  sins 
away,  or  burn  their  dead  uj)on  its  banks. 

Phillips  Brooks  preached  during  his  absence  at  St. 
Botolph's  Church,  Boston,  Lincolnshire,  England ;  at  the 
Clia])el  Royal,  Savoy,  London ;  at  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
the  Temple  Churcli,  St.  Margaret's,  at  Westminster 
Abbey,  at  Lincoln  (Cathedral,  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
Universities,  and  elsewhere,  always  to  the  great  delight 
of  his  hearers.      He  met   such   men  as  Browning  and 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS.  387 

Tennyson.  lie  was  the  warm  friend  of  the  lamented 
Dean  Stanley. 

Of  Browning  lie  writes,  in  ''  Letters  of  Travx'l,"  "He 
Avas  one  of  the  men  whom  I  wanted  most  to  see  here  ;  a 
])leasant  gentleman,  fnll  of  talk  about  London  and 
London  })eo}>le,  witli  not  a  bit  of  the  poet  about  him 
externaMy.*' 

Again  he  writes,  'M  dined  with  JNlr.  l<\)rster  and  Mr. 
l>right,  and  had  our  great  English  friend  jiretty  nuieh  to 
myself  for  two  hours.  He  is  a  great  talker,  especially 
when  he  gets  onto  America  ;  and  he  knows  what  he  is 
talking  about.  ]>oth  he  and  Forster  are  friends  worth 
having.  Lright,  personally,  wins  you  in  a  minute  by  his 
frankness  and  cordialuess  and  manliness  of  his  greeting." 

He  attended  one  of  Mrs.  (rhidstone's  recei)ti(ms ;  met 
Mr.  (Jladstone  at  dinner  at  Mr.  IJryce's;  breakfasted 
with  jNIatthew  Arnold,  "and  liked  liim  very  much;"  met 
Jean  Ingelow,  Mrs.  Ivitchie  (Thackeray's  daughter), 
Hughes,  and  many  others. 

Dr.  lirooks  returned  to  r>()ston  Sept.  22,  and  the 
])eoi»le  received  him  with  op(!n  nrms. 

Dr.  Lrooks  was  a  l>i'oad  Churchman,  and  broad  in  every 
sense  of  the  word.  His  secretary  tells  of  a.  conversation 
he  had  with  the  rector,  when,  after  ditfciiiig  in  o])inion, 
he  said  to  riiillips  l>rooks.  '•  I  am  very  sorry  that  1  have 
said  what  I  have  just  said.'' 

"  AVhy  ?  *'  was  asked. 

"  ]?ecause  it  is  not  pleasant  to  me  to  differ  with  you  in 
opinions,"  was  the  reply  of  the  secrc^larv.  Dr.  Brooks 
answered  with  much  earnestness.  ••  'i'his  is  a  fiee  coun- 
try, and  every  man  has  the  right  to  express  liis  own 
opinions."' 

Phillips  Brooks  was  one  of  the  most  tolerant  of  men. 


388  PHILLIPS  li ROOKS. 

In  two  lectures  on  "Tolerance,"  delivered  before  the 
students  of  several  divinity  scliools  of  tlie  E])iscoi)al 
Church,  he  said,  "  Tolerance  is  the  willing  consent  that 
other  men  should  hold  and  express  opinions  with  whicli 
we  disagree,  until  they  are  convinced  by  reason  that 
those  o})inions  are  untrue. 

"1  know  some  ministers,"  he  said,  "who  want  all 
tlieir  parislnoners  to  think  after  their  fashion,  and  are 
troubled  when  any  of  their  people  show  signs  of  tliink- 
ing  for  themselves,  and  holding  ideas  which  the  minister 
does  not  hold.  Thank  God,  the  liuman  nature  is  too 
vital,  especially  when  it  is  inspired  with  such  a  vital 
force  as  Christian  faith,  to  yield  itself  to  such  unworthy 
slavery.  .  .  . 

"  Bidden  to  believe  that  souls  would  be  punished  for 
wrong-thinking,  people  have  come  to  doubt  whether  souls 
would  be  punished  for  anything  at  all.  The  only  possi- 
bility of  any  light  upon  the  darkness,  any  order  in  the 
confusion,  must  lie  in  the  clear  and  unqualified  assertion 
that  such  as  God  is  can  punish  such  as  men  are  for 
nothing  except  wickedness,  and  that  honestly  mistaken 
opinions  are  not  wicked.  .  .  . 

"  The  only  ground  for  us  to  take  is  simply  the  broad 
ground  that  error  is  not  punishable  at  all.  Error  is  not 
guilt.  The  guilt  of  error  is  the  fallacy  and  fiction  wliich 
has  haunted  good  men's  minds." 

Again  he  said,  "  Insincerity  (whether  it  profess  to 
hold  what  Ave  think  is  false  or  .what  we  think  is  true), 
cant,  selfishness,  deception  of  one's  self  or  of  other 
people,  cruelty,  prejudice,  —  these  are  the  things  with 
whicli  the  Church  ought  to  be  a  great  deal  more  angry 
than  she  is.  The  anger  which  she  is  ready  to  expend 
upon  the  misbeliever  ought  to  be  poured  out  on  these." 


FIJILLIl'S  BROOKS.  389 

"  The  noblest  utterance  of  hopeful  tolerance  in  all 
that  noble  century,"  said  Dr.  Brooks  of  the  Tilgriius, 
''  was  in  the  famous  speech  in  wliich  John  Kobinson, 
their  minister,  bade  loving  farewell  to  his  de})arting 
flock  at  Leyden,  in  wliich  occur  those  memorable  words, 
*I  am  verily  persuaded,  I  am  very  coutident,  that 
the  Lord  has  more  truth  to  break  out  of  His  holy 
word.' " 

"  At  the  consecration  of  Trinity  Cliurch,"  says  the 
Rev.  Julius  II.  Ward,  "he  invited  prominent  Unitarian 
clergymen,  and  at  least  one  layman,  to  recteive  the  com- 
numion."  And  yet  Phillips  IJrooks's  one  gosi)el  message, 
in  which  he  believed  and  spoke,  was  the  j)ower  of  Christ 
unto  salvation. 

"  Of  the  Episcopal  Church,"  he  said,  "  tliere  are  some 
of  her  children  who  love  to  call  her  in  exclusive  phrase 
The  American  Church.  She  is  not  that ;  and  to  call  her 
that  would  be  to  give  her  a  name  to  which  she  has  no 
right.  The  American  Church  is  the  great  total  body  of 
Christianity  in  America,  in  many  divisions,  under  many 
names  ...  as  a  whole  bearing  perpetual  testimony  to 
the  people  of  America  of  the  authority  and  love  of  (iod, 
of  the  redemption  of  Chiist,  and  of  the  sacred  possibili- 
ties of  man.  .   .  . 

"The  church  wliich  to-day  effectively  denounces  in- 
temperance and  the  licentiousness  of  social  life,  the 
crui^lty  or  indilTeren(!e  of  the  rich  to  tlu^  i)oor,  and  the 
prostitution  of  j)ublic  office,  will  become  tlie  real  church 
of  America.  Our  church  has  done  some  good  service 
here.  She  ought  to  do  more.  .  .  .  She  ought  to  blow  her 
trumpet  in  the  ears  of  the  young  men  of  fortune,  sum- 
moning them  from  their  clubs  and  their  frivolities  to  do 
the  chivalrous  work  which  their  nobility  obliges  them 


390  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

to  do  for  their  fellow-men.  She  ought  to  speak  to  Cul- 
ture, and  teach  it  its  responsibility." 

Five  volumes  of  Dr.  Brooks's  sermons  have  been  pub- 
lished and  read  widely :  one  in  1878  ;  another  in  1881, 
"The  Candle  of  the  Lord  and  Other  Sermons,''  —  the  first 
sermon  was  preached  in  London,  and  attracted  wide  at- 
tention ;  in  188o,  "  Sermons  in  the  English  Churclies ;  " 
in  1886,  "  Twenty  Sermons,"  dedicated  to  the  memory 
of  Frederick  Brooks,  his  brother ;  and  in  1890,  "  The 
Light  of  the  World  and  Other  Sermons,"  dedicated  to 
the  memory  of  his  "  brother,  George  Brooks,  wlio  died 
in  the  great  war." 

The  llev.  Frederick  Brooks,  wlio  was  the  talented 
young  pastor  of  St.  Paul's  Church  in  Cleveland,  Ohio,  was 
drowned  by  falling  one  dark  evening  through  the  Charles- 
town  draw  of  the  Boston  and  Lowell  Kailroad  bridge. 
Tlie  last  inspiring  talk  which  he  made  was  at  one  of 
the  Temperance  Friendly  Inns  in  Cleveland,  where  he 
encouraged  us  with  his  words  of  sympatliy  and  interest. 

Phillips  P)ro()ks  wrote  two  other  books,  "  Lectures  on 
Preaching,"  and  the  "Bohlcn  Lectures,"  on  *'The  In- 
fluence of  Jesus.''  liesides  these  he  lias  written  several 
Christmas  carols  of  extreme  beauty,  and  some  pam- 
phlets. All  his  books  have  gone  through  many  editions, 
and,  like  Sjmrgeon's,  have  been  read  by  thousands. 

In  an  address  on  "  Biography,"  delivered  at  Pliillips 
Exeter  Academy,  he  said  that  he  would  rather  have 
written  a  great  biography  than  any  otlier  great  book. 

The  "  Lectures  on  Preacliing "  abound,  like  all  his 
work,  in  short,  concise  sentences  full  of  meaning,  and 
sliould  be  read  especially  by  every  one  who  intends  to 
preach. 

He  tells   young  men   that  the   talk   about   prevalent 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  391 

aversion  to  hearing  the  gospel  is  foolish,  "  The  age," 
he  says,  "  has  no  aversion  to  preaching  as  sncli.  It  may 
not  listen  to  your  i)reaching.  If  tliat  prove  to  be  the 
case,  look  for  the  fault  first  in  your  preaching,  and  not 
in  the  age.  I  wonder  at  the  eagerness  and  patience  of 
cinigregations.  .  .  .  Never  fear,  as  you  preach,  to  bring 
the  sublimest  motive  to  the  smallest  duty,  and  the  most 
infinite  comfort  to  the  smallest  trouble." 

The  necessary  qualities  in  a  preacher,  Phillips  Brooks 
thinks,  are,  "Personal  piety,  —  nothing  but  fire  kindles 
fire," — hopefulness;  such  physical  condition  as  comes 
from  a  due  regard  to  health  ;  enthusiasm  ;  "  tlie  (piality 
that  kindles  at  the  sight  of  men,  tliat  feels  a  keen  joy  at 
the  meeting  of  truth  and  the  human  mind." 

First  among  the  elements  of  })o\ver,  Phillips  Brooks 
puts  "  personal  ui)rightness  and  purity."  No  man  per- 
manently succeeds  in  the  ministry  who  cainiot  make  men 
believe  that  he  is  pure  and  devoted;  and  the  only  sure 
and  lasting  way  to  make  men  believe  in  one's  devotion 
and  purity  is  to  be  wliat  one  wishes  to  be  believed  to 
be."  lie  said.  ''  No  man  can  do  muesli  for  otliers  wlio  is 
not  miicli  himself.  .  .  .  Tlie  i)riest  must  hv  tlie  most 
manly  of  all  men." 

The  second  element  of  jtower  is  ''  freedom  from  self- 
consciousness."  "No  man  ever  yet  thought  whether  he 
was  prea(;hing  well  without  weakening  his  sermon." 

The  third  element  ''  is  genuine  resi)ect  for  the  people 
whom  he  prcacihes  to."  ''  There  is  no  good  preaeliing  in 
the  supercilious  preacher." 

The  fourth  is  "  gravity."  Dr.  T.rooks  thinks  the 
"merely  solemn  ministers  are  very  emi»ty  .  .  .  cheats 
and  shams;"  but  thinks  the  "clerical  jester"  merits 
''  the  contempt  of  Christian  people,"     "  lie   is   full  of 


392  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

Bible  jokes.  .  .  .  There  are  passages  in  the  Bible 
whi(!h  are  soiled  forever  by  the  touches  which  the  hands 
of  ministers  who  delight  in  cheap  and  easy  jokes  have 
left  upon  them.  .  .  ,  Kefrain  from  all  joking  about 
congregations,  flocks,  parish  visits,  sermons,  the  mishaps 
of  tlie  pulpit,  or  the  makeshifts  of  the  study.  Such  jok- 
ing is  always  bad,  and  almost  always  stupid ;  but  it  is 
very  common,  and  it  takes  the  bloom  off  a  young  minis- 
ter's life."  Dr.  Brooks  was  especially  careful  in  remarks 
about  any  person. 

The  fifth  element  of  power  is  "courage."  **  If  you  are 
afraid  of  men,  and  a  slave  to  their  opinion,  go  and  do 
something  else.     Go  and  make  shoes  to  fit  them." 

Phillips  Brooks  then  turns  to  the  dangers  which  beset 
young  preacliers.  The  first  is  self-conceit.  "He  who 
lives  with  God  must  be  humble,"  he  has  said  in  his  ser- 
mon, "  How  to  Abound."  Another  danger  is  nar- 
rowness. Still  another  is  self-indulgence.  "AVe  are 
apt  to  become  men  of  moods,  thinking  we  cannot  work 
unless  we  feel  like  it.  .  .  .  The  first  business  of  the 
preacher  is  to  conquer  the  tyranny  of  his  moods,  and  to 
be  always  ready  for  his  work.  It  can  be  done.  .  .  . 
Resent  indulgences  whicli  arc  not  given  to  men  of  other 
professions.  Learn  to  enjoy  and  be  sober ;  learn  to  suf- 
fer and  be  strong.     Never  appeal  for  sympathy." 

Again  he  said,  "The  clergy  are  largely  what  the  laity 
make  them.  ...  It  was  not  good  that  tlie  minister 
should  be  worshipped  and  made  an  oracle.  It  is  still 
worse  that  he  should  be  flattered  and  made  a  pet.  And 
there  is  such  a  tendency  in  these  days  among  our  weaker 
people.  ...  It  is  possible  for  such  a  man,  if  he  has 
popular  gifts,  to  be  petted  all  through  liis  ministry,  never 
once  to  come  into  strong  contact  with  other  men,  oi"  to 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  393 

receive  one  good  hard  knock  of  the  sort  that  brings  out 
manliness  and  character." 

Dr.  Brooks  liked  to  have  ministers  share  their  knowl- 
edge ;  giving  such  lectures  as  Norman  Macleod's  on  geol- 
ogy to  the  weavers  at  Newmilns.  ''  Would  that  more  of 
us  were  able  to  follow  his  example."  This  was  what 
Charles  Kingsley  loved  to  do. 

Of  political  i)reaching,  ])r.  Brooks  said  to  the  students, 
"  I  despise,  and  call  upon  you  to  despise,  all  the  weak  as- 
sertions that  a  minister  must  not  preach  iK)litics  because 
he  will  injure  his  influence  if  he  does,  or  because  it  is 
unworthy  of  his  sacred  office. 

"  When  some  clear  question  of  right  and  wrong  pre- 
sents itself,  and  men  with  some  strong  passion  or  sordid 
interest  are  going  wrong,  then  your  sermon  is  a  i)oor, 
untimely  thing  if  it  deals  only  with  the  abstractions  of 
eternity,  and  has  no  word  to  help  the  men  wlio  are  diz- 
zied with  the  whirl  and  blinded  with  the  darkness  of 
to-day." 

Jle  constantly  urged  uumi  of  all  classes  to  do  their  best. 
''  The  primary  fact  of  duty  lies  at  the  core  of  every  tiling," 
he  said. 

He  preached  his  own  sermons  with  the  single  motive 
"of  moving  men's  souls."  He  wrote  rapidly,  and  si)oke 
rapidly,  over  two  hundred  words  a  minuti*.  Two  stenog- 
rajjhers  were  always  necessary  to  record  his  sernu)ns  or 
addresses.  His  Lenten  noonday  sermons  at  Trinity 
Church,  New  York,  or  at  St.  Taul's  Churcli.  liostou,  were 
crowded  witli  tlie  busiest  business  men  of  both  cities. 
He  could  preac^h  witli  or  without  notes.  He  could  write 
a  sermon  in  six  hours,  at  two  sittings  of  three  hours  each  ; 
but  he  had  been  studying  and  tliinking  all  his  life 
for  it. 


394  PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 

In  1886  Dr.  Brooks  was  elected  assistant-bishop  of 
Pennsylvania,  but  declined. 

In  1889  the  freshmen  of  Wellesley  College  made  him 
an  honorary  member  of  their  class.  He  accepted  the 
position,  as  had  Dr.  Holmes  and  others  "with  former 
classes.  He  enjoyed  meeting  with  the  young  women, 
for  he  always  treated  men  and  women  alike,  with  no 
increased  suavity  for  the  latter.  About  a  week  before 
his  death,  says  an  article  in  the  Feb.  1;"),  1894,  Golden 
Rule,  he  went  to  Wellesley  College  to  address  the  stu- 
dents, and  afterwards  received  them  in  the  large  parlors. 
"I  met  my  class  here  one  Sunday  afternoon,"  he  said, 
"and  they  asked  me  questions,  ten  to  the  minute.  It 
was  very  interesting.  They  did  not  differentiate  at  all 
between  the  questions  that  may  be  answered  and  the 
questions  that  may  not." 

In  1891  Pliillips  Brooks  was  chosen  Bisliop  of  Massa- 
chusetts, after  a  heated  contest  between  tlie  Higli  and 
Broad  Churchmen.  Dr.  Brooks  wisely  kept  silent  dur- 
ing the  whole  controversy. 

He  possessed,  what  he  said  impressed  him  most  about 
Mr.  Moody,  "  astonishing  good  sense." 

He  was  consecrated  with  most  impressive  services, 
Oct.  14,  1891,  in  Trinity  Church ;  liishop  Potter  of  New 
York  preaching  the  consecration  sermon. 

It  is  said  that  the  regular  salary  of  tlie  former  IMassa- 
chusetts  bisliop  was  six  tliousand  dollars.  As  Phillips 
Brooks  received  eight  thousand  from  Trinity,  it  was 
suggested  that  he  be  given  eight  as  bishop,  but  this  he 
would  not  permit. 

Bishop  Brooks  took  up  his  work  with  his  wonted 
earnestness  and  zeal.  "  The  amount  of  speaking  that  he 
did  was   appalling,"   says   Bishop   William   Lawrence; 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS.  395 

"  four  to  seven  sermons  and  addresses  on  a  Sunday,  with 
sermons,  addresses,  and  speeches  in  quick  succession 
through  the  week." 

"He  was  the  most  unselfish  man  I  ever  knew,"  says 
his  secretary.  "  He  was  always  sacrificing  himself  for 
others.  Not  only  did  he  never  speak  of  himself,  but  he 
never  even  thought  of  himself."  He  seemed  never  to 
waste  a  moment  of  time,  and  yet  had  time  for  every- 
thing. He  Avas  careful  always  to  keep  appointments 
promptly. 

Bishop  Brooks  lived  the  frankness  which  he  preached. 
"  To  keep  clear  of  concealment,"  he  said,  "  to  keep  clear 
of  the  need  of  concealment,  to  do  nothing  which  he 
might  not  do  out  on  the  middle  of  Boston  Common  at 
noonday  —  I  cannot  say  how  more  and  more  that  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  glory  of  a  young  man's  life.  It  is  an 
awful  hour  wlien  the  first,  necessity  of  hiding  anything 
comes.     The  whole  life  is  different  thenceforth." 

Phillips  Brooks  kept  his  warm  heart  through  life. 
''  Sentiment,"  he  said,  "  is  tlie  finest  essence  of  the 
human  life.  It  is,  like  all  the  finest  things,  the  easiest 
to  spoil.  .  .  .  Let  him  glow  with  admiration,  let  him 
burn  witli  indignation,  let  him  believe  with  intensity, 
let  him  trust  uncpu'stioningly.  let  liim  sympathize  with 
all  his  soul.  The  liard  young  man  is  the  most  terrible 
of  all.  To  have  a  skin  at  twenty  that  does  not  tingle 
witli  indignation  at  the  sight  of  wrong,  and  (piiver  witli 
pity  at  tlie  sight  of  pain,  is  monstrous."  He  thouglit  a 
young  man  should  "go  responsive  tlirough  the  world, 
answering  quickly  to  every  tou(Oi,  knowing  tlie  burdened 
man's  burden  just  because  of  the  unpressed  liglitness  of 
his  own  shoulders,  .  .  .  buoyant  tlirough  all  his  uncon- 
querable hope,  overcoming  the  world  with  his  exuberant 


396  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

faith.  ...     Be  not  afraid  of  sentiment,  but  only  of  un- 
truth.    Ti-ust  your  sentiments,  and  so  be  a  man." 

Phillips  Brooks  urged  the  joy  which  he  always  showed 
in  his  own  life.  "Joy,  not  sadness,  is  the  characteristic 
fact  of  young  humanity.  To  know  this,  to  keep  it  as 
the  truth  to  wlii(;h  the  soul  constantly  returns,  —  that 
is  tlie  young  man's  salvation.  AVhatever  young  de- 
pression there  is,  there  must  be  no  young  despair. 
In  the  morning,  at  least,  it  must  seem  a  fine  thing  to 
live." 

He  loved  his  work  better  than  all  else  on  earth.  He 
wrote  a  friend  in  England,  "  I  have  had  a  delightful 
life;  and  the  last  twenty  years  of  it,  which  I  have 
spent  in  Trinity  Church,  have  been  unbroken  in  their 
happiness." 

Bishop  Brooks  was  courageous.  In  his  sermon,  "  The 
Man  Avith  Two  Talents,"  he  says,  "  To  do  great  things  in 
spite  of  difficulties,  that  is  a  very  bugle-call  to  many 
men." 

Again  he  says,  in  "  Going  up  to  Jerusalem,"  "  Oh,  do 
not  pray  for  easy  lives !  Bray  to  be  stronger  men.  Do 
not  pray  for  tasks  equal  to  your  powers.  Bray  for  ])OW- 
ers  equal  to  your  tasks !  Then  the  doing  of  your  work 
shall  be  no  miracle.     But  y(m  sliall  be  a  miracle  !  " 

He  emphasizes  tins  in  his  sermon,  "  The  Clioice  Young 
Man,"  in  his  Fifth  Series.  "  Sad  is  it  when  a  community 
grows  more  and  more  to  abound  in  young  men  who  wor- 
ship wealth,  and  think  they  cannot  live  without  luxury 
and  i)liysical  comfort.  The  choicest  of  its  strength  is 
gone." 

Of  gambling  he  said,  '^In  social  life,  in  club,  in  col- 
lege, on  the  street,  the  willingness  of  young  men  to  give 
or  receive  money  on  the  mere  turn  of  chances  is  a  token 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  397 

of  the  decay  of  manliness  and  self-respect,  which  is  more 
alarming  than  almost  anything  besides." 

Bishop  Brooks  was  grandly  optimistic.  Dr.  Samuel 
Eliot  says,  "  A  mother  wrote,  asking  him  to  baptize  her 
little  boy,  and  he  wrote  back,  '  What  a  glorious  future 
before  a  child  born  at  the  close  of  our  century  ! ' " 

'•'I  don't  want  to  be  old,"  he  used  to  say,  ''but  I 
should  like  to  live  on  this  earth  five  hundred  years." 

"Believe  in  man  with  all  your  childhood's  confidence," 
he  wrote  in  "  Visions  and  Tasks,"  "  while  you  work  for 
man  with  all  a  man's  prudence  and  circumspection. 
Such  union  of  energy  and  wisdom  makes  the  completest 
character,  and  the  most  powerful  life." 

He  said,  "I  always  like  men  who  believe  terribly  in 
other  men." 

"  Nothing  was  more  remarkable  in  him,"  says  Canon 
Farrar,  "than  his  royal  optimism.  With  him  it  was  a 
matter  of  faith  and  temperament.  I  think  he  must  have 
been  born  an  optimist.  Often,  when  I  was  inclined  to 
despond,  his  conversation,  his  bright  si)irits,  his  friendli- 
ness, his  illimitable  hopes,  came  to  me  like  a  breath  of 
vernal  air." 

The  summer  of  1892  was  spent  in  Eurojje  by  Dr. 
Brooks.  He  wrote  Archdeacon  Farrar  after  his  return, 
on  his  birthday,  Dec.  13,  "  In  the  midst  of  a  thousand 
useless  things  whicli  I  do  every  day,  there  is  always  com- 
ing up  the  recollection  of  last  summer,  and  how  good  you 
were  to  me,  and  what  enjoyment  T  liad  in  those  deliglit- 
ful  idle  days.  Never  shall  I  cease  to  thank  you  for  tak- 
ing me  to  Tennyson's,  and  letting  me  see  the  great  dear 
man  again.  How  good  he  was  that  day !  .  .  .  and  how 
perfect  his  death  was!  .  .  .  Jiml  Whittier,  too,  is  gone. 
.  .  ,     How  strange   it  seems,  this  writing  against  one 


398  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

friend's  name  after  another  that  you  will  see  his  face  no 
more !  .  .  .  I  hope  that  you  are  well  and  happy.  Do 
not  let  the  great  world  trouble  you." 

While  he  enjoyed  England,  he  was  thoroughly  Ameri- 
can. He  wrote  from  London,  "I  think  that  the  more 
one  travels  here  the  more  he  feels  that,  while  there  is 
very  much  to  admire  and  desire  in  these  English  ways, 
the  simplicity  and  directness  of  our  American  fashions 
of  doing  things  are  far  more  satisfactory." 

Two  weeks  later  he  preached  a  Christmas  sermon  at 
the  Church  of  tlie  Incarnation,  New  York,  for  his  brotlier. 
Dr.  Arthur  Brooks.  This  was  the  day  of  all  days  which 
he  loved.  He  enjoyed  giving  and  receiving  Christmas 
gifts. 

He  said  in  his  sermon,  "  One  of  the  very  wonderful 
things  about  our  human  life  is  the  perpetual  freshness, 
the  indestructible  joy,  that  clings  forever  about  the  idea 
of  birth.  You  cannot  find  the  hovel  so  miserable,  the 
circumstances  and  the  prospects  of  life  so  wretched,  that 
it  is  not  a  bright  and  glorious  thing  for  a  child  to  be  born 
there. 

"  Hope  flickers  up  for  an  instant  from  its  embers  at 
the  first  breathing  of  the  baby's  breath.  No  squalidness 
of  the  life  into  w'hich  it  came  can  make  the  new  life 
seem  squalid  at  its  coming.  By  and  by  it  will  grow  dull 
and  gray,  perhai)S,  in  sad  harmony  witli  its  sad  surround- 
ings ;  but  at  the  first  there  is  some  glory  in  it,  and  for  a 
moment  it  burns  bright  uix)n  the  bosom  of  the  dulness 
where  it  has  fallen,  and  seems  as  if  it  ought  to  set  it 
afire. 

"  And  so  there  was  notldngthat  could  with  such  vivid- 
ness re])resent  the  newness  of  Christianity  in  the  w^orld 
as  to  have  it  forever  associated  with  the  birtli  of  a  child. 


PUILLIPS  BROOKS.  399 

"  It  is  a  strange,  a  wonderful,  birtli.  ...  I  do  not  care 
to  understand  that  story  fully.  It  is  enough  for  me  that 
in  it  there  is  represented  the  full  trutli  about  the  won- 
drous child  of  Christmas  Day.  He  is  the  child  of  heaven 
and  earth  together.  It  is  the  spontaneous  utterance  of 
the  celestial  life.  It  is  likewise  the  answer  to  the  cry 
of  need  with  which  every  hill  and  valley  of  the  earth  has 
rung,  that  lies  here  in  the  cradle.  .  .  . 

'■'The  Inimble  birth  of  Jesus  in  the  stablt>  of  the  inn  at 
Bethlehem  was  a  proclamation  of  the  insignificance  of 
circumstances  in  the  greatest  moments  and  experiences 
of  life." 

A  few  days  later,  Jan.  14,  1893,  ]iishop  Brooks  took 
cold  at  the  consecration  of  a  church  in  East  Boston,  and 
a  soreness  of  throat  resulted.  Five  days  later,  Thursday, 
he  seemed  somewhat  ill,  and  went  to  bed.  A  physician 
came,  but  no  alarm  was  felt.  Sunday  night  the  throat 
grew  dii)htheretic,  and  the  bishop  became  delirious. 
Monday  morning,  Jan.  23,  at  6.30,  Phillii)s  Brooks  ceased 
to  breathe.  • 

His  last  words,  spoken  to  his  brother  William  and  the 
faithful  servants  and  nurse  who  stood  by  the  bedside,  as 
he  waved  his  hand,  were,  "  Good-by ;  I  am  going  home. 
I  will  see  you  in  the  morning." 

The  sad  news  could  scarcely  be  believed.  The  great, 
strong  man,  bishop  for  only  a  year  and  tlircc  months, 
had  fallen  in  his  very  prime,  lion's  faces  were  blanclied, 
and  women  wept.  The  poor  and  the  rich  had  a  common 
sorrow.  Even  children  felt  tlie  bereavement.  A  little 
five-year-old  girl  was  told  by  her  mother  that  ''  Bishop 
Brooks  had  gone  to  heaven." 

The  child  knew  and  loved  him,  and  had  always 
delighted  to  meet  him.  "O  mamma!"  she  replied, 
"  how  hai)in'  the  angels  will  be  !  " 


400  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

On  Thursday,  Jan.  26,  Bishop  Brooks  was  buried.  No 
other  funeral  was  ever  like  it  in  Boston.  At  7.45  in  the 
morning  the  coffin  was  borne  from  the  bishop's  residence, 
at  the  corner  of  Clarendon  and  Newbury  Streets,  to  the 
vestibule  of  Trinity  Church,  accompanied  by  a  guard  of 
the  Loyal  Legion,  of  which  Phillips  Brooks  was  chaplain. 
The  colors  of  the  Loyal  Legion  covered  the  coffin,  on 
which  lay  some  Easter  lilies  among  palms. 

It  is  estimated  that  from  eiglit  to  eleven  o'clock 
twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  persons  passed  by  the  body 
as  it  lay  in  state,  and  looked  once  more  upon  the  face  of 
the  man  they  loved  and  honored.  A  heavy  plate  glass 
was  over  the  face,  and  the  coffin  was  hermetically  sealed. 

Rich  and  poor,  children  and  adults,  sobbed  as  they 
passed  on.  A  gray-haired  and  very  poorly  dressed 
woman  drew  a  cluster  of  roses  from  her  bosom,  and, 
with  tears  flowing  down  her  clieeks,  laid  them  reverently 
upon  the  casket. 

A  pale-faced  woman,  with  a  little  boy  scantily  dressed 
for  the  winter  weather,  who  could  not  enter  the  cliurch 
for  the  crowd,  begged  a  policeman  to  let  her  in.  He 
replied  brusquely,  telling  her  to  get  into  line. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  see  hini  once  more ! "  she  sobbed ; 
"  he  paid  for  the  operation  which  gave  sight  to  my  boy, 
and  I  must  see  liim  again." 

The  people  about  her  were  moved  by  her  entreaty, 
and  an  usher  quietly  told  the  officer  to  allow  the  mother 
and  her  child  to  come  in. 

Meantime  Trinity  Church  had  become  filled  with  the 
various  delegations,  —  from  Harvard  College,  Boston 
University,  the  Governor  and  Committee  of  the  Legis- 
lature, clergymen  from  a  distance,  theological  schools, 
officers  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  and 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  401 

Young  Men's  Christian  Union,  and  various  other  organ- 
izations. 

Tlie  church  was  beautifully  decorated.  At  the  back 
of  the  chancel  was  an  arch  of  laurel,  fifteen  feet  high 
and  nine  feet  wide,  with  a  spruce-tree  eight  feet  high  on 
each  side.  In  front  of  this  was  a  tall  cross  of  Easter 
lilies,  and  the  baptismal  font  was  filled  with  the  same 
flowers.  Roses  and  lilies  sent  by  friends  were  heaped 
everywhere,  although  a  request  had  been  made  tliat  no 
flowers  should  be  sent. 

Among  the  flowers  was  a  cross  with  the  words,  "  From 
Helen."  This  was  the  gift  of  the  little  blind  girl,  Helen 
Kellar,  at  the  South  Boston  Institute  for  the  Blind,  of 
whom  the  dead  preacher  was  very  fond. 

Just  before  noon  the  body,  borne  on  the  shoulders  of 
eight  strong  men,  picked  fnmi  the  various  athletic  teams 
of  Harvard,  passed  up  the  aisle  of  tlie  cluireh,  headed  by 
the  bishops  and  honorary  pall-b(>arers.  TJie  whole  con- 
gregation joined  in  singing  "  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul,'' 
the  music  broken  by  audible  sobbing.  After  brief  ser- 
vices, while  the  i)eople  remained  standing,  and  the  organ 
played  its  low,  solemn  notes,  tlie  bod}'  was  borne  out 
into  Copley  Square  in  front  of  Trinity,  and  placed  on  a 
draped  platform,  where  an  out-door  service  was  held  for 
the  more  tlian  twenty  thousand  persons  who  could  not 
get  inside  the  church. 

A  memorial  service  was  held  at  the  same  liour  in  the 
First  Baptist  Churcli,  near  by. 

After  tlie  Lord's  I'raycr,  in  which  all  joined,  the  hymn 
beginning,  — 

"O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past. 
Our  liopo  for  years  to  oonie. 
Our  slH>ltor  from  the  stormy  blast. 
And  our  eternal  home;" 


402  PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 

was  sung.  Copies  of  it  liad  been  distributed  among  the 
people.     Three  cornetists  led  the  singing. 

It  was  an  hour  never  to  be  forgotten.  Eyes  unused  to 
tears  were  wet  that  day.    • 

The  funeral  procession  of  fifty  carriages  then  moved 
towards  Mount  Auburn,  across  Harvard  Bridge,  through 
a  line  of  thousands  of  people.  Places  of  business  through- 
out the  city  were  closed,  and  the  bells  upon  the  churches 
and  public  buildings  in  Boston  and  other  cities  were 
tolled. 

When  the  head  of  the  procession  reached  Beck  Hall, 
Cambridge,  the  university  bell  began  tolling,  with  the 
old  bell  in  Harvard  Hall,  and  the  bells  of  Christ  Church, 
chiming,  — 

"  Heaven's  morning  breaks 
And  earth's  vain  shadows  flee." 

Two  thousand  college  students,  standing  several  deep, 
with  heads  uncovered,  were  formed  in  two  lines  from  the 
University  building  to  the  West  Gate.  Through  their 
ranks,  entering  from  Harvard  Street,  the  body  of  their 
beloved  preacher  was  borne.  "  Never  in  all  our  college 
life,"  writes  Dr.  McKenzie,  "  has  there  been  a  burial 
like  his." 

From  the  college  grounds  the  procession  moved  to 
Mount  Auburn,  where  the  brothers,  John  and  Arthur, 
conducted  the  services.  Flowers,  which  the  dead  bishop 
loved,  lay  everywhere  upon  the  pure,  white  snow, —  lilies, 
roses,  carnations,  and  sheaves  of  wheat.  The  fence  about 
the  family  lot  was  hung  with  ivy  and  violets  tied  with 
purple  ribbon. 

The  crowd  drew  aside  to  let  three  weeping  women  look 
into  the  open  grave,  before  the  dirt  fell  upon  the  coffin. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS.  403 

They  were  three  sisters,  —  servants  who  had  long  minis- 
tered in  the  bishop's  home,  and  whose  devotion  had  been 
repaid  by  constant  appreciation  and  kindness. 

The  world  went  back  to  its  work,  but  we  are  never  the 
same  after  a-  great  life  has  touched  our  own.  Phillips 
Brooks  said  in  his  sermon  on  "  Withheld  Completion  of 
Life,"  "  The  ideal  life  is  in  our  blood,  and  never  will  be 
still.  We  feel  the  thing  we  ought  to  be  beating  beneath 
the  thing  we  are.  Every  time  we  see  a  man  who  has  at- 
tained our  human  ideal  a  little  more  fully  tlian  we  have, 
it  awakens  our  languid  blood  and  tills  us  with  new 
longings." 

All  who  ever  knew  or  heard  Phillips  Brooks  will  for- 
ever strive  after  his  unselfisliness,  his  courage,  his 
thoughtfulness,  his  eagerness  to  make  the  world  better. 

Bishop  William  Lawrence,  who  succeeded  Phillips 
Brooks,  Avrote  of  him  in  the  March  -  April,  1893,  An- 
dover  Review,  "When  all  has  been  said  about  his  elo- 
quence, his  mastery  of  language,  and  his  tunudt  of 
thought,  we  are  turned  back  to  tlie  tliought  that  the  ser- 
mons Avere  great  because  the  man  was  great.  His  was 
a  great  soul.  He  stood  above  us ;  lie  moved  in  liiglier 
realms  of  thought  and  life  ;  he  had  a  wider  swee})  of 
spiritual  vision  ;  he  was  gigantic.  And  yet  he  was  so 
comi)letely  one  of  us,  so  sympathetic,  childlike,  and 
naturally  simple,  that  it  was  often  only  by  an  effort  of 
thought  that  we  could  roali/e  that  he  was  groat.  Kingly 
in  character,  we  buried  him  like  a  king." 

Memorial  services  were  held  in  scores  of  churches  ;  in 
Boston,  in  Lowell,  in  Worcester,  in  New  York,  in  ^faine, 
in  llhode  Island,  and  elsewhere.  At  the  old  South 
Church  in  Boston,  Protestants  and  Koman  Catholics 
united  in  the  service. 


404  PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Philip  S.  Moxom  of  the  First  Baptist 
Church  Avell  said  of  Phillips  Brooks,  "  He  was  a  loyal 
Episcopalian  in  tlie  very  best  sense  in  which  a  man  can 
be  loyal  to  the  cluircth  of  his  choice ;  but  he  was  not  and 
could  not  be  confined  in  the  Episcopal  Church.  He  be- 
longed to  no  church  or  party  or  sect ;  rather  he  belonged 
to  all  churches  and  parties  and  sects  in  so  far  as  they  rep- 
resent elemental  truths  and  express  elemental  sympathies. 
The  Congregationalists  claimed  him,  the  Unitarians 
claimed  him,  the  Baptists  claimed  him,  the  Methodists 
claimed  liim ;  and  tlie  claims  of  all  were  just,  because  be- 
neath all  these  names  and  party  badges  is  the  common 
human  heart  and  the  one  universal  church  of  God  ;  and 
to  that  human  and  that  church  of  God,  Philli])S  Brooks 
belonged."  The  next  generation  will  not  remember  the 
rush  of  his  voice  in  the  pulpit,  or  the  warm  clasp  of  his 
hand,  or  his  kindling  eye,  but  his  influence  will  go  on 
forever. 

As  he  himself  said,  "  He  whose  life  grows  abundant 
grows  into  sympatliy  with  the  lives  of  fellow-men,  as 
when  one  i)ool  among  the  many  on  tlie  seaslu^re  rocks 
fills  itself  full,  it  overflows,  and  becomes  one  with  the 
other  pools,  making  them  also  one  with  each  other  all 
over  the  broad  expanse." 

Eor  such  a  life  there  are  no  seashore  limits ;  no  limits 
of  time  or  space.  His  M'ords  will  have  fulfilment.  We 
shall  *'  see  him  in  the  morning." 


Mrs.  Saral  K.  Bolton's  Fanois  Books. 


"  ne  most  interesting'  books  to  me  are  the  histories  of  individuals  and  individual 
minds,  all  autobiographies,  and  the  like.  This  is  my  favorite  reading." — H.  W. 
Longfellow. 

"Mrs.  Bolton  never  fails  to  interest  and  instruct  her  readers."— ChiCA^o  Inter- 
Ocean. 

"Always  written  in  a  bright  and  fresh  style." —  Boston  Home  Journal, 

"Readable  zuithout  inaccuracy." — Boston  Post. 


POOR  BOYS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  Short  biographical  sketches  of  George 
Peabody,  Michael  Faraday,  Samuel  Johnson,  Admiral  Farragut, 
Horace  Greeley,  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  Garibaldi,  President 
Lincoln,  and  other  noted  persons  who,  from  humble  circumstances, 
have  risen  to  fame  and  distinction,  and  left  behind  an  imperishable 
record.     Illustrated  with  24  portraits.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

"It  is  seldom  that  a  book  passes  under  our  notice  which  we  feel_ impelled  to 
commend  so  1         " 

"  No  book 
growing  reading-circles  of  our  country."— foil  rnal  of 

"Of  this  class  of  books  we  cannot  have  too  many,  — the  more  wc  have  the  better. 
This  book,  placed  in  the  hands  of  our  youth,  will  be  worth  more  to  them  than  gold." 
—  Christian  Intelligettcer. 


ciaom    inai    a    uook    pabbc:>    uiiucr  (lur  notice  wiiicii   wu   icci    iinpciicu  lo 
so  highly  to  young  readers,  and  especially  to  boys." — N.   Y.  Observer. 
ok  withm  our  knowledge   is   better   suited    to  be  adopted    in  the  rapidly 
eadinij-circles  of  our  coxxwUv."— Journal  of  Education. 


GIRLS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  Biographical  sketches  of  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe,  George  Eliot,  Helen  Hunt  Jackson.  Harriet  Hosmer,  Rosa 
Bonheur,  Florence  Nightingale,  Maria  Mitchell,  and  other  eminent 
women.     Illustrated  with  portraits.     i2mo.     $1-50. 

"  Mothers  and  daughters  cannot  fail  to  find  it  both  an  interesting  and  inspiring 
bof)k." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  No  better  book  can  be  put  into  the  hands  of  a  young  girl." — Buffalo  News. 

"  Such  books  as  this  will  elevate  the  minds  of  young  girls,  help  them  to  understand 
the  real  problems  of  life,  and  leave  a  lasting  impression  on  their  minds  and 
character.  — Boston  Herald, 


FAMOUS  MEN  OF  SCIENCE. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  Short  biographical  sketches  of  Galileo, 
Newton,  Linna;us,  Cuvier,  Hinnboldt,  Audubon.  Agassiz.  Darwin, 
Buckland,  and  others.     Illustrated  with  15  portraits.     i2mo.     $1-50. 

"Cannot  fail  to  delight,  interest,  and  instruct  every  boy  or  girl  who  may  have  the 
good  fortune  to  read  it." — Queries. 

"  Possesses  both  interest  and  permanent  value." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  No  greater  incentive  to  noble  effort  on  the  part  of  young  men  and  women  could 
be  furnished  than  the  biographies  of  eminent  and  successful  men  such  as  the  present 
Tolume  contains."— j?r£>oi/y«  Standard  Union. 

(1) 


MBS.  SABAH  E.  BOLTON'S  FAMOUS  BOOKS. 


FAMOUS  AMERICAN  STATESMEN. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  Biographical  sketches  of  Washington, 
Franklin,  Jefferson,  Hamilton,  Webster,  Sumner,  Garfield,  and 
others.     Illustrated  with  portraits.     i2mo.     $i-50. 

"  With  womanly  tact  and  discernment,  she  notes  keenly  and  describes  charmiagly 
those  minor  traits  of  character  which,  after  all,  do  most  distinguish  one  individual 
from  another,  and  give  human  nature  its  subtle  and  wondrous  variety." — The  Critic. 

"  It  will  be  successful,  and  as  useful  as  her  other  books  have  become.  .  .  .  Her 
studies  of  character,  and  manner  of  description  are  exceptionally  interesting."  — 
Cottffregationalist. 

FAMOUS  ENGLISH  STATESMEN. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  With  portraits  of  Gladstone,  John  Bright, 
Robert  Peel,  Lord  Palmerston,  Lord  Shaftesbury,  William  Edward 
Forster,  Lord  Beaconsfield.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

"The  author's  comprehension  of  her  task  is  complete.  Students  should  not  con- 
sider  their  knowledge  of  the  present  reign  thorough  without  a  devoted  reading  of 
Mrs.  Bolton's  work.  It  is  an  inspiration  to  the  study  of  history,  —  one  of  those  rare 
and  delightful  books  which  elevate  respect  for  the  race,  and  man  in  particular;  a 
book  which  makes  the  re.-ider  feel  that  to  be  a  noble  man  is  the  highest  privilege 
and  the  sublimest  aim." —  Chicago  Tribune. 

"A  ready  and  accomplished  writer."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"  Drawn  with  remarkable  fidelity." —  Charleston  News  and  Courier. 


FAMOUS  ENGLISH  AUTHORS  OF  THE  I9th  CEN- 
TURY. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  With  portraits  of  Scott,  Burns,  Carlyle, 
Dickens,  Tennyson,  Robert  Browning,  etc.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

"  She  invests  with  fresh  interest  and  charm  those  oft-told  stories  of  the  g^eat 
makers  of  our  nineteenth-century  literature." —  The  Critic. 

"  Admirably  executed.  .  .  .  They  have  a  charm  that  no  other  kind  of  history  can 
riva.1."— Golden  Rule. 

"  Even  more  interesting  than  the  preceding  books,  and  will  prove  entertaining,  not 
only  to  young  persons,  but  to  older  readers  as  well." — N.  Y.  Star. 


FAMOUS  AMERICAN  AUTHORS. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  Short  biographical  sketches  of  Holmes, 
Longfellow,  Emerson,  Lowell,  Aldrich,  Mark  Twain,  and  other 
noted  writers.     Illustrated  with  portraits.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

"  Bright  and  chatty,  giving  glimpses  into  the  heart  and  home  life  of  some  whom 
the  world  delights  to  honor.  .  .  .  At  once  accurate,  inviting,  instructive." — Chau- 
iauquan. 

"  Nothing  dry  about  the  book.  .  ,  .  Should  find  a  place  in  the  libraries  of  those 
who  can  afford  out  few  books."  — OwroAa  Daily  Times. 

"  Will  always  hold  rank  in  English  literature,  and  all  lovers  of  American  authors 
should  read  it." — Ohio  State  Journal. 

(2) 


HBS.  SABAH  E.  BOLTON'S  FAMOUS  BOOKS. 


FAMOUS  EUROPEAN  ARTISTS. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  With  portraits  of  Raphael,  Titian,  Land- 
seer,  Reynolds,  Rubens,  Turner,  and  others.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

"The  charm  of  the  book,  as  of  all  by  Mrs.  Bolton,  lies  in  the  easy,  conversational 
naturalness  with  which  the  reader  is  led  from  page  to  page.  Solid  information  and 
pleasant  entertainment  are  blended  enjoyably.  Young  people  in  hundreds  of  homes 
will  read  such  a  book  with  interest,  and  be  the  better  tor  it.    — Congregalionalist. 

"Abounds  in  information  and  entertainment." — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  line  of  current  biography  that  is  better  fitted  for 
inculcating  in  the  young  a  hearty  taste  for  wholesome  literature.  .  .  .  Printed  in  an 
artistic  manner." — Troy  Times. 

"  Klevated  both  in  language  and  thought." —  Cleveland  Leader. 


STORIES  FROM  LIFE.    (FICTION.) 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  A  book  of  short  stories,  charming  and 
helpful.     i2mo.     $1.25. 

"  When  one  seeks  mental  recreation,  he  can  do  no  better  than  to  pick  up  this 
entertaining  and  delightful  volume." — Chicago  Current. 

"A  book  for  the  home  library,  the  Sunday-school,  and  wherever  there  are  hearts  to 
be  touched  and  minds  to  be  influenced  for  good." — JVew  Haven  Palladium. 

"  Sensible  and  matter-of-fact,  and  of  the  kind  calculated  for  popularity,  and 
deserving  of  it.  .  .  .  It  would  be  better  for  tlie  world  of  readers  if  there  were  more 
of  such  writers." — Literary  World. 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  With  portraits  of  Qiieen  Louise,  Madam 
Recamier,  Miss  Dix,  Jenny  Lind,  Susanna  Wesley,  Harriet  Martin- 
eau,  Amelia  B.  Edwards,  and  Mrs.  Judson.  lamo.    $1.50, 

"  Such  a  book  is  well  fitted  to  strengthen  the  courage  and  inspiration  of  every  woman 
who  is  learning  to  comprehend  something  of  the  inherent  nobleness  and  glory  of  her 
sex. "  —  Hartford  Daily  Times. 

"Wise  mothers  will  give  this  volume  to  their  daughters.  C(>nsctcntious  teachers  will 
read  it  to  their  scholars." —  Interior. 


FAMOUS  VOYAGERS  AND  EXPLORERS 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton.  With  portraits  of  Raleigh,  Sir  John 
Franklin,  Magellan,  Dr.  Kane,  Grccly,  Livingstone,  and  others, 
jjuio.     $1.50 


OTHER  VOLUMES  IN   PREPARATION. 


Vor  Bale  by  all  boohaellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  upon  receipt  of  price  by 
the  publishers.    Catalogues  sent  free  upon  application. 


THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  &  CO., 

NEW  YORK  AND   BOSTON. 
(3) 


Mrs.  Saral  Kiwles  Biltoi 


Comes  from  good  New  England 
ancestry;  descended  on  lier 
father's  side  from  Henry  Knowles, 
who  came  to  Rhode  Island  from 
London,  England,  in  1685,  and 
on  her  mother's  side  from  Colonel 
Nathaniel  Stanley,  of  Hartford, 
Conn.,  one  of  the  leading  men  of 
the  colony,  and  from  Colonel 
William  Pynchon,  one  of  the 
twenty-six  incorporators  of  Mas- 
sachusetts Bay  Colony.  She  was 
graduated  from  the  Hartford 
Seminary,  established  by  Catlia- 
rinelieecher;  published  a  voliune 
of  poems,  and  in  1866  married 
Charles  E.  Bolton,  A.M.,  of  Mas- 
sachusetts, an  Amherst  College 
graduate  of  '65.  They  removed 
to  Cleveland,  O.,  where,  besides  writing  for  various  periodicals,  she 
did  much  cliaritable  work.  She  was  secretary  of  the  Woman's 
Christian  Association,  and  Asst.  Cor.  Sec.  of  the  Nat.  W.  C.  T.  U. 
She  has  twice  visited  Europe,  spending  two  years  in  England,  France, 
Italy,  Cermany,  Russia,  Norway,  and  Sweden  studying  literary  and 
educational  matters,  and  the  means  used  by  employers  for  the  mental 
and  moral  elevation  of  their  employees.  On  the  latter  subject  she 
read  a  paper  before  the  American  Social  Science  Association  in  1883. 
She  was  for  three  years  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Boston  Conr/re(fation- 
alist.  She  prepared  several  small  books  for  the  Cleveland  Educational 
Bureau,  conducted  gratiutously  by  her  husband,  and  described  by 
Dr.  Washington  Gladden  in  the  Century  magazine,  January,  1885. 
The  Bureau  was  discontinued  when  Mr.  Bolton  gave  his  time  to 
lecturing. 

Mrs.  Bolton  has  written:  How  Success  is  Won,  1884;  Poor  Boys 
who  became  Famous,  1885;  Girls  who  became  Famous,  1886;  Stories 
from  Life  (fiction).  1886;  Social  Studies  in  J]ngland,  1S80;  Famous 
AmericauAuthors,  1887;  From  Heart  and  Nature  (poems),  1887.  half 
the  book  written  by  her  son,  diaries  Knowles  Bolton,  Harvard  Ck)llege, 
class  '90;  Famous  American  Statesmen,  1888;  Some  Successful 
Women,  1888;  Famous  Men  of  Science,  1889;  Famous  English 
Authors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  1890;  Famous  European  Artists, 
1890;  Famous  English  Statesmen  of  Queen  Victoria's  Reign,  1891; 
Famous  Types  of  Womanhood,  1892. 

Miss  Frances  E.  Willard  says  of  ^frs.  Bolton,  "She  is  one  of 
the  best-informed  women  in  America,  the  chief  woman  biographer  of 
our  times."  

Mrs.  Bolton's  books  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent 

f>ostpaid  upon  receipt  of  price  by  the  publishers.     Complete  cata- 
ogue  sent  free  to  any  address  upon  application. 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO.,  "^"bo'^?c^1^.  ^"^ 


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